Inferno
by Nuria Shadow
Summary: An AU fic. When the mysterious Deviant world collides with the Parisian public, a fiery occurrence alerts the Deviants to a certain ghosts existence. Two women are sent to lure the ghost out of hiding and obtain him, by whatever means necessary.
1. Author's Note

**Inferno**

**By**

**Nuria Shadow**

**Book One: The Deviant Carnival**

**Chapter One:** The Coming Storm

**Chapter Two:** Satin Chains

**Chapter Three:** Varvara

**Chapter Four:** The Mask in the Flames

**Chapter Five:** The Freak Show Family

**Chapter Six:** Arrangements

**Please Read Below First-**

Author's Note:

Before you read, realize that this is a story somewhat different from most Phantom fiction, and therefore requires an open mind. By open mind I mean an audience that a) doesn't have a problem with fictional/ bordering on the edge of fantasy stories, and b) can look past the fact that this tale takes a rapid plummet from the original Phantom legend and goes on it's own 'what if' path. Although I enjoy them, I have grown bored of the countless retellings of if Christine had chosen Erik, and random girl shows up from the future to heal Erik's broken heart stories (although I proudly admit I have written a few of those myself). I am not saying stories like that are bad, in fact I am fond of very many tales with the same content, but recently I have been searching for something fairly new. After a vigorous search, I decided maybe it would be more satisfying if I could write one of my own. This is the result, a story I thought up years ago and never found the inspiration to write until recently.

Now that I have explained how this idea was brought forth, there are a few things I should mention about this tale so as to not confuse people as the story progresses.

First of all, this tale will be taking place three years before the original Phantom story. Now, seeing as I could not really find an exact date as to what year the original takes place in, and the movie says that it is 1870 when the story begins, I am going with the 2004 version's information. So, the story will be taking place in 1867. Now, because of that time change, I hope you understand (sorry fans of the Viscount) that Raoul will be taking no part in this story.

Now, in Leroux's version, it is hinted that Christine was supposedly twenty at the time, so I am also taking her three years back which means she will be seventeen during this story. She is still the perfectly innocent girl we know so well, mourning her father and vulnerable as always, but I am changing it to where she has just begun her training under the Angel Of Music (so although the two are fond of one another, the obsession of love has yet to smack our dear Phantom in the mask… in a matter of speaking).

Also, it should be mentioned that this is in no way an EC pairing fanfic. Although Christine is present, and might have a few heart fluttering moments with our dear Erik, mostly she will play the role of placing some controversy between characters. In short, yes, I am drastically altering the plot line of the story we all know and love, but please remember to keep an open mind. This is simply a 'what if' story with several twists and creative characters. Also, I can not guarantee that this is a feel good story. Lots of bad things will happen and lots of bad people will show up, but there will be some good people and good times and yes, as usual, a female leading role that makes things a bit more interesting.

On a good note, Erik's character will not be altered in any form (although I had to pick one of the several versions' of masks he wears). I decided to keep with the original full faced Leroux version of Erik's mask, but his persona is a bit between Kay's Erik, Leroux's Erik, and a tad bit of Webber's version. Erik will still be the hauntingly dangerous man we all know and love, meaning he will display all his feelings of romantic desire, violent controlling nature, human distrust, be sadistically humorous, and all the other great bits in between. As for the extent of his deformity I chose to give Erik, you'll have to read to find out.

A quick warning that I must mention is that at some point this story might get fairly mature. It is already a certainty that there will be various occasions of violence, foul language, and suggestive moments. Also there is a possibility of sexual content, although whether it will be described or implied has yet to be decided. Be aware, keep an open mind, and choose wisely if you are alright with reading mature material.

Other than that, this story is quite different than any others I have written. I'm proud of how it's developed, and if you keep an open mind I believe everyone will enjoy reading this fic as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

One more thing before we head off into the story: ALL REVIEWS WILL BE ANSWERED AT THE BEGINNING OF EACH NEW CHAPTER. So if you have any questions or just want to drop a hello, that's where I will respond to you ;-).

And that's about it for now. I can't say anymore, wouldn't want to spoil the surprise for you. So yes, have at it…

And have fun reading my story…

Humbly Yours,

-N. Shadow


	2. I: The Coming Storm

**Inferno**

**By Nuria Shadow**

**Book One: The Deviant Carnival**

"_Slaves lose everything in their chains, even the desire of escaping from them"_

_-Jean Jacques Rousseau_

**Chapter One: The Coming Storm**

The day began as something beautiful.

Light played across the water that morning like never before, painting the gentle waves with all the rising colors of the sun in such a way that it seemed the ocean had just given birth to life itself. In that instant the bleak abyss beneath the waters surface became one with the heavens, bathed with the mirror image of God's grand masterpiece, nature's perfect design. The warmth of orange, the serenity of violet, and the passion of red, all swirled together like elegant dancers, pirouetting across the cool ripples and onwards into the distant horizon. It was the sun's triumphant song as it stole the Throne of Heaven away from the night, a reminder to all of its glory and magnificence, demanding all earthly beings to crave its radiance. In return, the earth complied. Nature's children awoke to taste the relief of another day, another chance to set things right.

The quiet city of Marseille had suddenly burst into activity as the first mornings light touched upon its central harbor, jumping into action as if every last soul had been waiting in the shadows for the signal to pounce. Inland the market had opened to sell the former days catch, fisherman's wives lining the streets with prepared stands that they coated in layers of ice and pounds upon pounds of fresh fish. Shoppers crowded these roads, mostly woman out to buy the best bargain for a good meal and children running about obnoxiously to disturb the natural order of business. Along Port Vieux, Marseille's most occupied harbor, men boarded their docked vessels and directed the massive boats out to sea, departing to play the predator of the ocean so they could make a living back on dry land. Seagulls rose from their wooden perches, some darting away into the horizon to join the ships on their journey out while others took to inspecting the streets in hopes that some clumsy person would drop some of their more edible purchases. Church bells chimed with morning glory in the distance as the sea began to churn from the passing boats, pulling out for a second before rushing back in to splash waves of salt water upon Marseille's cobblestone streets, sprinkling a few young children who ran past, squealing all the while in youthful delight. The quiet of the city had vanished then beneath a roar of voices as life sprung into existence, as the lonely streets became blessed with God's children.

This was the normal routine of every morning in this city by the sea, the same lively greeting into a new day full of prosperity and opportunity. Every day was the same, every piece of mortar and sea salt stained cobblestone, every ray of sun light, cry of seagulls and beat of the ocean was completely in its place. Everything was as it always was… except for one thing. In its bustle the city had barely noticed the strange looking woman by the docks, sitting so absently on the edge of the wooden planks, her mismatched skirts hiked up to her thighs so that pale calloused feet could tap gently on the waters surface below. She was an odd sight, questionably dressed and far from the ordinary citizens Marseille was used to, but despite her being horribly out of place, no one had time to take notice in the stranger who sat with her feet in the water. Besides, no respectable person would approach a stranger whose very appearance screamed to be avoided.

The woman was adorned in clothes that were not of the most flattering nature. The top layers of her skirts were the color of swamp land mud, washed out brown with stains of grey and patches from an obviously unskilled stitching. Beneath those were another layer of skirts that were entirely mismatched from its ugly upper sister, these a much finer fabric of red died wool that was much more flattering in color but lost its advantage when the loose strings that hung carelessly at the hem were noticed. Beneath that were several other layers of stained white cottons, and then remained another bit of oddness where she wore a pair of torn mans leggings that she had rolled up to her knees to avoid them getting wet as her feet hung in the water. For where a blouse should have been she wore instead a massive tan leather coat that might have been at one time a handsome brown if it weren't for the water stains that diluted its color. Worn and scuffed brown hide boots sat abandoned on the planks beside her, thick tan stockings shoved so scrappily inside of them that from afar it looked like a pile of fur was growing from within the leather. Then for the final touch there draped a thick black veil that hung down her back and loosely over the slope of her forehead to hide away any sign of a face beneath the shadow it cast. Every inch of her body was smothered beneath layers of fabric that didn't match, that screamed poverty, every inch except for her smooth and pale legs that hung exposed over the edge to the water. It was for this reason that no one would bother her, that they avoided her like a rat carrying the plague, but because of this she could sit in peace, content in being isolated.

Sadly, like all things though, her solitude had to end, for within the passing masses another stranger was silently making her way to the peasant at the docks. This woman opposed to the mismatched stranger drew more than a few eyes, not from a surplus of clothing as the other but instead a near lack of proper dress. She strode through the crowds in a simple slimming purple dress that lacked sleeves and used only two strings as straps to keep it from exposing her slender form entirely. The dress hung like an undergarment on her honey brown skin, barely touching her form but instead floating on the cushion of air between. It was shorter than dresses were deemed appropriate, falling to about her mid thigh and leaving the rest below naked to be flaunted and envied by people with less perfect figures. This improper attire wasn't what drew most eyes, though it did lure more than a few. The most stunning of her features was the odd designs in her light brown hair, unusual thin streaks of pure white that zigzagged randomly about the prominent brown. Marseille watched fascinated at her for this, murmuring quietly to themselves as she passed carelessly through their whispers.

The crowds had absently parted as the zigzag woman walked unwavering towards the docks and the shaded stranger that remained unmoved with her toes drawing circles in the water. All watched with curiosity until the point that the zigzag woman had come to halt at the other stranger's side, but when the shaded woman gave no notice to her guest the crowds once again drew restless and returned to their precious routine.

When all eyes had been misdirected and they two were left alone, the zigzag woman had turned her head down towards the other, tan shoulders slumping slightly as her smooth pink lips parted to release a solemn sigh and then a name, "Aideen."

The black veil had shifted then, turning in response to the name as she lifted her face to the other. From within the shadow, two grey eyes sought the misty blue of her comrades gaze, catching them for only a moment before a gentle sigh emerged from the shade and the veil turned back to face the sea.

"Aideen," The zigzag woman had called again, and when the other did not reply she continued on with a gentle laugh, "Aideen, you look horrible."

The black veil had only turned its head slightly, enough so that a low growl could be heard as she hissed in response, "Do not speak to me as if we are friends."

The zigzag woman stiffened then, automatically retorting in the same curt manner as she spat, "Mind your tongue traitor. You know what I've come to do. I'd suggest you not say anything that will urge me to punish you any further than I'm forced to."

In response the veil had only murmured, "Traitor? Is that what they will be calling me now?"

"That is what Desmond has deemed you to be since we woke to find you missing this morning," The zigzag woman stated, her tone harsh like a parent scolding a child, "Honestly Aideen, you can't tell me you actually expected Desmond to be forgiving?"

"No," The veil shook slowly with disappointment, "Forgiveness is a myth to all of us."

A moment of silence had fallen then, the silence that smothered and filled the air with a sadness that words could never explain. The zigzag woman had sighed once more, her shoulders slumping as stormy eyes turned to gaze at the clearing horizon. The sun had risen to its full magnificence then, gracing the cruel earth with a warmth that neither of them could truly feel anymore.

"This is the price of deformity," The zigzag woman said distantly, "This is the curse for being different."

"This is our contracts flaw," The black veil spoke, and her gentle voice quivered as she spoke the words not yet accepted, "This is just one of the things we sold for acceptance."

The zigzag woman had absently nodded before lowering her gaze back to the shaded woman at her feet. For a moment her eyes had displayed a kind of pity, a regret in knowing what she had to do as she asked tenderly, "Why did you leave Aideen? You know we are bound to him, slaves to his rules. You know what will happen if you go too far from him. Why would you risk such a fate?"

For a moment the veil merely shrugged as if there really was no answer, but after silence had settled in she saw it fit to gently whisper, "Because I never knew how much I needed freedom… until I lost it."

Again that choking silence, the stillness after her words that was unbearable because it swarmed with truth. The zigzag woman's misty blue eyes had fallen to the water then, watching as the shaded one's toes played about in the waves. The poor girls feet were so calloused they no longer held that feminine curve to them, the result of years in their servitude and the punishments they had been forced to endure. Still, she could have watched how the waves rolled over the pale girl's skin forever, if it wasn't for her sudden movement that drew her eyes away.

With a consenting sigh, the shaded woman had drawn her legs back to the dock, cradling them beneath her before she rose to stand at eyes level with the zigzag woman. At first, the shadow remained and all that was seen were those empty grey eyes that floated like smoke in the darkness of her cave, but then two cotton bound hands rose from the pockets of her worn leather coat and gently the shaded stranger, the woman called Aideen, pulled back the veil from her face.

A tumble of red curls had replaced the veil across her shoulders, and from within them shown that beautifully sad face. She was stunning, nature's perfection, a porcelain angel with flawless features and hair as red as fire that fell in large curls complimenting her beauty. She had nothing to be shamed of, no physical flaw that would have forced a person to hide in such a way, but within the smoke of her eyes there lay the real truth. In those grey eyes sat the monster that hid within the smoke, the deformity deeper than skin.

The zigzag woman had shut her eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths to gather the courage she needed to do this. Slowly she had managed to open her eyes and look into the empty grey that were Aideen's soul, her voice saying heavily with remorse, "I'm sorry Aideen, but you know we can not defy him. You know what he sent me to do, and I'm sorry for the pain I am going to cause you."

Aideen had half smiled at her then, nodding gently in understanding as she sighed, "I know Brig… I'm sorry you must be the one to punish me."

"We have no choice," The zigzag woman Brig whispered, and then taking a few steps back from Aideen asked slowly, "Are you ready?"

"Will it hurt much?" Aideen breathe, her voice giving a gentle quiver of fear.

Brig had fallen silent for a moment, then forcing the truth out said solemnly, "Yes."

"I thought it would," Aideen had whispered, and then balling her fist and raising her eyes to the other she said shakily, "I'm ready."

Brig nodded and for a moment she held the gaze between them, until tears had caused her to break her hold and glance up into the beautifully clear sky. "And it was such a beautiful day," Brig sighed before closing her eyes entirely to the world around her.

For a moment all was still and the sun shown warmth upon Aideen's pale skin, the fire she knew so well, and then Brig's arms had risen towards the heavens and the security had gone. Like magic, black looming clouds had raced in from the horizon to smother the living city of Marseille in darkness. The sun had died behind the shadow of the storm, and life had fled as the clouds released a chorus of rain upon the earth. The wind had whirled about them like a pack of wolves, turning the peaceful sea into an unforgiving monster waiting to swallow the world in its depths. Within the clouds, light was transformed into Zeus's weapon, striking at the helpless earth below, scattering its victims.

Brig had lowered her head then and opened her eyes upon Aideen, the shaded girl simply standing there as the rain bit at her skin and the wind threatened to tear her apart. She could fight back, Brig knew it as well as everyone else how truly dangerous those grey eyes were, but her will was stronger. She would bravely stomach her punishment, and Brig felt remorse even more in seeing this. Aideen would suffer pain for the sake of acceptance. They all did so many terrible things for acceptance. Monsters, inside they were nothing but monsters.

It was then that Brig had found Aideen's eyes, and once again the world seemed to pause as the sadness echoed between them. So much pain…

And then the light had shattered down from the heavens, and in one magnificent flash of electricity, Aideen was punished.


	3. II: Satin Chains

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Phantom or phantom related. My only claim is over the original characters created and used in this story, and my own additional plot.**

**A/N: It's been some time since I last updated and I apologize for that. I am in the transition stage into college life and it is more than time consuming, as I am sure many can understand. Still, I am slowly finding time to write and thankfully have mustered the hours needed to make this update. I hope it is pleasing and that everyone gives it as much an open mind as they can muster. **

**Also, to A Heart Full Of Sorrow, thank you deeply for your reviews. They have certainly made my day as well! I'm glad you approve of my writing style and my characters. That is a great compliment to me so thank you once more. I hope that this new chapter will be just as worthy of praise as the last one.**

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**Inferno**

**By Nuria Shadow**

**Book One: The Deviant Carnival**

"_Hell is oneself, hell is alone, the other figures in it merely projections. There is nothing to escape from and nothing to escape to. One is always alone."_

**Chapter Two: Satin Chains**

_Darkness had consumed her world once the pain had been too much. It had swallowed her into the fatal black of its forbidden underworld just as the fragile body that kept her tied to a mortal reality had failed her. In the heat of a moment of unhindered pain, Aideen had simply released her hold on the chains that linked her to humanity, and like an angel corrupted by sin, she fell from the blinding light of the heavens into the heart of darkness where her very own torment waited to receive her._

_Through the seven layers of Hell she descended, plummeting past each endless affliction meant for its varied sinners towards a level unknown to the superstitious and the religious extremist above- a layer of nightmares entirely designed for her alone. Farther and farther Aideen was dragged into a prison between realities, a place that always lay in wake behind the barrier of consciousness that kept the real monster at bay, the frightening origin of her power. Within her cage of endless night she paused, suspended in shadows with her arms and legs spread like a bat gliding in the darkness that smothered her. For the moment she did not struggle as she hopelessly awaited her inevitable torment, but when the four waves of red satin materialized from the shadows and latched like wild, ravenous beats to her pale wrists and ankles, she began that frantic fighting against the chains._

_Her struggle was futile, a useless waist of energy as she fought to prevent an ordeal she knew would never end. The satin chains were too tight, the darkness too vast, and the gate to the mortal realm which she had clung so desperately had long since faded into the distance. She was alone now, like all of her wretched life, utterly and irreversibly alone._

_Then, as if the darkness itself had decided to be so tritely ironic, something had stirred in the immense black shadow of Hell. Aideen's struggle had ceased as her crying mind was numbed to listen for that looming sound, those muffled moans that grew ever closer and those dragging steps that echoed hauntingly forever in her worst nightmares. Through the black, blurs had begun to take shape, moving slowly like the undead at first before their gaping holes for eyes had caught sight of their helpless Aideen. As their toothless mouths had turned upon her a twisted grin, groans of lust emerged from their ashen throats and their shuffled steps had transformed into a thudding sprint. From the shadows they appeared like a pack of ravenous wolves, hundreds of trapped souls, their bodies made of fragile ash and great gaping holes where the eyes and tongue had once been. With grey, crusting hands outstretched they rushed forward, greedily shoving away one another as each raced to touch her first. _

_The closer they grew the more Aideen would struggle, yanking mercilessly against her satin chains to the point where her pale wrists would begin to bleed red as she rubbed them raw. The smell of her rare blood only drove the monsters into a frenzy though, and in only a few short breaths they were upon her._

"_No! Don't!" She cried to the masses as their crusting grey hands came to violently caress the layers of fabrics that stood between her and the rest of the pitiless human race. Feverishly she thrashed, her body twisting like a snake lashing out as she tried feebly to push her tormentors away. Still, the damned remained persistent, their scabbed fingernails tearing through her shell like tissue paper as she squirmed, their cavernous mouths releasing grunts of repulsive pleasure as the fabrics gave way to their fierce touch. _

_Naked and vulnerable, Aideen had finally exhausted herself from fighting back the ashen hands of her foes, hanging limp and helpless in the ruthless grasp of her satin chains. They had torn away every layer of protection she had wore, stripped her of all that could restrain the creature crawling beneath her skin, and only than as she hung nude before their eyeless sockets did they stop their violent groping. As if they were admiring her bare form, the masses took a short step back and stood silent. Weakly, Aideen lifted her mortified gaze to the crumbling bodies of her victims, the smoke of her eyes glancing pleadingly into the faces that would forever haunt her dreams, the lives she had destroyed._

"_Forgive me," She whispered, her thin pink lips quivering with every labored breath. It was a useless plea, Aideen knew this well, but each time she relived this nightmare she had to say it, a hopeless prayer that someday her soul would be liberated. Yet every time her prayer would be brushed away by the hand of God, and every time her plead was followed with execution._

_In grave silence, the masses had parted a clear path from the depthless shadow to where Aideen hung. Their repulsive groans had been silenced then by the hauntingly rhythmic patting of slow, graceful steps that echoed out to them from within the darkness. Just as mysteriously as before, another blur had slowly begun to take form within the depthless shadows, emerging slowly to reveal the ashen Queen of her demented torment. She appeared just as the others, her body a fading shell of ash and her mouth a gaping cavern of monstrous noises, but the thing that set this crusting empress apart from her clan was that deep within the sockets of her missing eyes flickered a small blue flame, patiently awaiting its chaotic finale._

_Aideen instinctively held her breath as the woman came into full view, her toothless grin smirking momentarily towards the naked beauty that dangled like a virgin sacrifice in her burning gaze. She walked a mockingly slow, drawing out the agonizing moment as long as her black heart desired, allowing Aideen to brew in the inevitable interaction that was about to come into play. Aideen didn't dare to struggle, her body wilting in fear that even the slightest sign of rebellion would quicken the Queen's approach. Still, it changed nothing. In the blink of an eye the Queen was before her slave, breathing a smog of dead air into Aideen's sweat drenched face._

_Aideen tilted her head down in obedience to the monster before her, avoiding eye contact with the damned as best she could. This did not please the Queen though and she hissed like a serpent ready to strike as her subjects around her tilted back their ashen heads and screamed like starving infant birds into the night. Violently the Queen's crusting hands came to grasp both sides of her sacrifice's head, Aideen flinching from the sudden stab of pain as the Queen whipped her face upwards. Eye to eye, the Queen held Aideen's face close to her own, their noses nearly touching. In her coarse touch Aideen began to shake, her lips quivering as she pleaded breathlessly for forgiveness. But in her Hell, forgiveness was nothing more than a myth._

"_I," Aideen whispered gravely, her diluted accent coming out as a mere shiver while tears boiled to the surface in her eyes, "I… I'm so sorry Mum."_

_The Queen sneered while her minions about her let loose a howl that would have made the Devil himself shiver with fear._ _This was it, the finale in her twisted game, the raging end that would finally extinguish that wretched power she had been born to abide. The fire had its precious souls and was prepared to take its last sacrifice, to destroy the pathetic shell it had been imprisoned in for thirty-six long mortal years. It cried for freedom from that sad, human existence and the Queen was glad to receive her child at any cost, even if that meant slaughtering the mortal host. _

_The ritual to free the power began, the ashen minions beginning to jump about like crazed animals as they screeched their sickening delight into the infinite dark. Aideen didn't have the stomach to watch. She shut her grey eyes away from the madness, her muscles tensing as they prepared for the coming pain. Inside she tried to sink away, praying that by some chance of mercy God would allow her to die before the monster emerged. _

_No such mercy was granted. _

_It came first like a rising heat, spreading from the chasm in her chest across her entire body, slowly warming like a furnace beneath her skin. It coursed through her veins, boiling her blood, rupturing the organs and the muscles, although somehow still managing to keep her alive. Across her skin great sores began to rise like volcanoes ready to rupture its poison into the air, and slowly the flesh was broken to ooze its molten fluids. The flesh cracked and seeped lava, burning her tender skin into the ash of the Queen's horrid minions. Inside her body had begun to crumble, each rasped breath producing a cloud of smoke that fell upon the crowds and showered them in another layer of ash. It wouldn't be long now. Her body had already begun to deteriorate, and when nothing but her still beating heart lay in a bed of ashes, the fire would spring from the last remaining muscle and Aideen would cease to exist. She would die as the fires sacrifice, and finally be in peace._

_Aideen…_

_Something whispered faintly in the darkness through the lusting screams of demons, shocking the monsters so that they returned to their stoic stances and went silent._

…_Aideen._

_Again it whispered, though the voice had grown stronger as it reached into the darkness. The demons about her shuffled uncomfortably, grunting noises of question to one another that were never truly answered. The Queen had even paused to stare puzzled into the night, dropping her hands from Aideen's cheeks to paw aimlessly at the air._

_Aideen._

_It spoke clear now, louder and more demanding than ever before, causing the monsters about her to jump back in fear. _

_Come back Aideen…_

_The voice commanded her like a master addressing its slave, and obediently Aideen opened her eyes to stare towards the shadows above. Like a door the darkness had burst open, displaying the seven layers of Hell and in the distant her chains that clung to reality. Around her Aideen had faintly heard the screams of her monsters and even felt their crusting hands as they fought to keep her, but their efforts were in vain. The satin binds had fallen from her limbs and through the darkness she rose, drifting once more past the layers of the underworld until her hands had finally found their mortal chains. Gently the irons locked over her pale wrists and Aideen felt a rush of some deep, wet cold before the chains pulled her back into the vague grey of the human world._

"Aideen," The voice pawed, that uncultured Irish accent dragging her back into existence, "Ya' arse be a wee bit too close to deid lass."

Aideen managed to groan a response as the feeling slowly began to come back, of which she immediately regretted when her entire body screamed a complaint as she moved. Her right eye slowly remembered how to open, and with a heavy attempt she finally was able to look at the Irishman huddled over her.

He was an older man, at least seventy by the wrinkles across his pasty complexion. The flesh about his eyes drooped slightly and his cheeks fell in a way that he almost resembled a bull dog when he frowned. He had a generally friendly look about him though and when he smiled there was a kindness behind that grin that brought nothing but warmth. Still, he would certainly have been easier to read if the rest of him was visible. Other than his painted white face and the long, dirty brown duster he was wearing nothing else was visible. All his limbs, his hair, his eyes and neck, every uncovered inch of him was completely transparent. When he opened his mouth to speak you could see clear through to the walls that stood behind him. The only reason his face could even be seen was because of the white paste he had spread over his skin, allowing Aideen the blessing to see a friendly smile.

The corner of her lips gave a tiny twitch at an attempt to grin towards the transparent man, Aideen's weak accent coming out as croak as she muttered, "Mornin' Thomas."

"Afternoon ist more like it," Thomas grinned, the white paste about his lips cracking slightly as he did, "Ye're lookin' awfully boak, lass."

Aideen groaned, raising one painful arm to push a red curl out of her eyes as she commented dryly, "Nah? I feel jist peachy."

Again the paste creased, Thomas chuckling lightly as he huffed, "Ye're still crotchety ast ever. Can ya' stand?"

"Aye," Aideen moaned, extending her arm as a silent request for help, "Ya got gloves on?"

"Course," Thomas said, two leather gloved hands coming to grasp Aideen's tender flesh as he hoisted her to her feet.

Aideen's system let lose a harsh complaint as soon as she was standing vertically though, waves of pain like needles digging into her bones that coasted throughout her body until she let lose a dreadful scream. Instantly her muscles gave way and Aideen toppled to her knees, ready to keel over if it wasn't for the fact that Thomas had took hold of her shoulders to keep her up.

"Easy lass, easy," Thomas soothed, gently rubbing her shoulders with rhythmic pressure, "Ya gots to keep it in Aideen. Ya know Desmond don'ts like us to show pain."

"Desmond can go shove it up his arse!" Aideen seethed, speaking through her clenched teeth as she struggled to keep from screaming, "The bastar wasn't bloody electrocuted!"

"Ea, ya wants to blame someone blame Brig," Thomas growled, a slight defense for their leader sounding in his tone, "She's the witch that did it."

Aideen growled bitterly, "Aye, but only after Desmond gave the order."

"Ya ran away Aideen," Thomas groaned, popping her lightly on the side of the head, "Whast ya expect?"

Aideen groaned, leveling a look of dissent with him as she sighed, "Too much I fear."

Thomas merely chuckled, giving her a pat on the shoulder with one leather gloved hand as he grinned, "Ya still not learned to give up, even after wes sold ourst souls to the circus?"

"Never," Aideen groaned, before she began to sway a little as if feeling faint.

With one hand Thomas steadied her, his clenched lips showing his concern as he whispered, "Maybe ya out to rest some 'ore lass. I'll fetch some whiskey to 'elp dull the pain."

Aideen gently shook her head in defiance, "Nah. Nah whiskey Thomas. I needs my senses for the journey to Paris."

Again the paste about Thomas's lips creased, the old man giving a knowing chuckle as he whispered, "Lass, did ya not notice the black tent about us? Ye're senses can't be all deid. The place reeks of Aristocrats."

"And the penniless," Aideen grimaced, giving a small shake of her head, "Tis sad that such great wealth would ignore such poverty. Shame really."

Thomas simply smiled, "They're nobleman Aideen, nah saints."

"Saints- nah such thing," Her tone was almost spiteful as she sat back on her heels, running a pale and fragile hand through her red curls. Grey eyes drifted about her surroundings, trying to sort out the whole ordeal through her blurry mind. She was in one of Varvara's black tents, a prop tent as far as she could tell from the various fake jeweled staffs and trick door caskets meant for the deviants acts. She knew the muddled look of the prop tent well, but why she had been dumped in it she couldn't figure for the life of her. "One of the props now, am I?" Aideen questioned with a smirk of mockery.

Thomas merely shrugged, leaning back on his gloved hands as he sighed, "Desmond 'ad us put ya back here. Said ya didn't deserve the luxury of ya own tent after what ya did. Lord, Aideen, what the 'ell came over ya?"

Aideen grinned, rubbing the back of her neck roughly as she sighed, "I'm a bloody Scot, Thomas. Tis in me nature to rebel." For a moment the two found the heart to laugh, but the sound was short lived, as all happiness was in their world. The cold bitterness of silence returned, a feeling that had always caused Aideen to be more than restless. She cleared her throat, twisting anxiously with a lock of hair as she asked, "How long was I out?"

"Eight days," Thomas muttered honestly, the white paste cracking as his mouth twitched.

"Eight days," Aideen repeated, "But that would mean… shite! Bloody 'ell Thomas, why didn't ya tell me?"

"Ya needed rest lass!" Thomas retorted, putting a hand out to keep her down as she struggled to stand, "Ya still do. The show isn't till tonight Aideen. Ya need to rest to regain ya strength."

"I'm tired of resting," Aideen growled, gritting her teeth to subdue the pain as she pulled herself to her feet, "The only way I'm going to be prepared for t'night is if I get these bones working now. Nah pity for any of us Thomas, and Desmond's still going to demand the same performance out of his dear Inferno despite me health."

"Ea, he will, but the last thing Desmond would want ist another accident Aideen," Thomas looked up at her, a serious concern written about his white painted face, "There will be many 'ere for opening night. Nobleman mixed wit' commoners, celebs and beggars, half the damn city is goin' to be 'ere. Ya can't take the risk."

Despite Thomas's words, Aideen simply smirked confidently, giving him a reassuring nod before promising, "There won't be another accident Thomas, that I promise if ya can keep those scoundrels hands to themselves."

Thomas nodded solemnly, "I know. Don't let 'em touch ya skin."

"And there won't be an accident to dread," Aideen added, giving Thomas a gentle grin, "Don't worry so much old man. What more could possibly go wrong?"


	4. III: Varvara

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Phantom or phantom related. My only claim is over the original characters created and used in this story, and my own additional plot.**

A/N: Well, after a long era of writer's block and a great battle with my college's internet connection, I have finally found the means of posting this update. I really have had it ready to post for about two weeks now, but my college internet had literally died about an hour before I was prepared to post this little bit. Oh well, point is I have found the means, and after a very frustrating fight, will get to update.

**Icelands**Thank you very much for reading this story, and the compliment about my writing made my day. I sadly do not have anything up on Fictionpress, but I have been considering doing so. I'm very glad that you decided to give this fanfic a chance. It is a little unusual, so thank you above and beyond for your kind comment.

**A Heart Full of Sorrow** Wow, I really am having a hard time thinking up a response better than plainly saying thank you. I literally lit up when I read your review. You are by far one of the most animated and thoughtful readers I've ever had, and I am supremely grateful that you enjoy this story. I have spent more time then I care to admit developing these characters, so the fact that you like them so much really means a great deal to me. This really is a story I have taken a great deal of time developing, because as I said I was tired of the norm, so I do hope this holds up to your expectations. Also, I would like to say that your little exit statement there was extremely original and I loved it. Thank you dearly for reviewing, and I hope to read another review from you soon.

**AngelicFlutist**Yay! A fellow Stephen King admirer, and an Irish/Scot. Are you from Ireland, and if so which part? I'm glad you like this story. Like I have said before, I am trying to write something beyond the average Phantom fiction, so I am very pleased that you like this story.

Well, thank you everyone for the lovely reviews. I do look forward to hearing from you all again on this new chapter. I hope you all enjoy. Toodles!

**Inferno**

**By Nuria Shadow**

**Book One: The Deviant Carnival**

"_It's no longer the sideshow, it's the whole show. The colorful circus, the clowns and the elephants, for all intents and purposes, are gone, and we're dealing only with the freaks.__"_

_-Jonathan Winters_

**Chapter Three: Varvara**

The night loomed like a veil of mystery over the twisting streets of central Paris, draping the city in an intoxicating fog of sinful bliss and whispered pleasures. Below the world had changed into a sanctuary for the wicked and the bizarre, a palace that for this one dark hour belonged to the mortal embodiments of magic. Tonight those of all ranks and stature gathered to watch the creatures of lore, humans of every class drawn by the temptation of the unknown like a moth to a flame.

In the center of Grands Boulevard stood the heart of the enchanted realm, a massive blood red tent that both intimidated and intrigued all onlookers. It towered above the surrounding city, protruding towards the heavens as if to point its devilish finger mockingly towards God as his children filled its charmed seats. Within several small fires illuminated its exotic interior, making it resemble a lit jack-o-lantern from the outside, its sadistic and knowing smile drawing people from miles around into its corrupt hands.

And come they did. The whole of Paris seemed to be crowded about this massive spectacle that night, or at least everyone that could afford to spend the mere five francs it cost for admissions. Around the blood tent they formed, each anxiously waiting for that moment when the flap door would fly open and admit them to enter the forbidden realm. It was a rare occasion for such an unusual performance to appear, and even more a rarity for so many varied classes to mix for it. Nobleman and the exceptionally wealthy integrating with the bohemians and the penniless was a strange sight indeed, but each would stomach it for the opportunity to experience the world's greatest exhibit that night.

Deep within the massive crowds though there stood another kind of oddity, or at least a group that stood apart from the insanely rich and the regrettably poor. They formed a small circle of white silk tulles and stiffened tarlatans in the center of the vast mob, huddled tightly together as if seeking each others warmth in the cold of the night. There were twelve of them in all, young and slender beauties who all seemed to have the body mass of a toothpick. Most were tall with age, their bodies abnormally thin but adorned with well toned muscles in their arms and legs. All were curiously blonde, except for the obviously youngest of the bunch, who was a little brunette that couldn't have been older than eight, and the tallest and oldest of the twelve whose hair was as black as oil. They whispered among themselves as they waited, their voices low and their glances occasionally searching about the crowds cautiously.

"I do hope they hurry this up," One of the middle aged blonds complained, her thin fingers fiddling nervously with the laces of her dress as all the girls eyes turned to her, "It is unbelievably crowded out here. You can literally smell the garbage on these pitiful peasants."

"Stop complaining Adelie," The tall, black haired girl snapped, her tone a hard and demanding order that displayed her dominance over the others, "You all wanted to go to the fair, I got you here, now have a little patience."

Adelie stiffened, her eyes sending a wicked glare towards her superior although her tone still held reverence as she sighed, "Yes, Caprice."

Caprice grinned smugly towards the younger rat until her dark eyes diverted to skim the rather grim looking faces of her comrades. "What is the matter with all of you?" Caprice frowned, inspecting each down turned eye expectantly, "Hours ago you were all giddy with the thought of seeing this show, and now you all seem so bleak. What's wrong now?"

The girls flinched in the cruelty of Caprice's dark glare, and only one had the courage to look back. Her sweet blue eyes stared back at Caprice through several stray locks of thin blonde hair, a tender comfort in her voice as she replied, "I believe I know why." The other girls turned their eyes to her questioningly, and she gave a small sigh before saying as if she were speaking to children, "You're all afraid of Maman finding out, aren't you?"

The girls gave a silent but confirming nod, and in response Caprice growled loudly, "Please, don't be so ridiculous. Madame is not going to find out we left the Opera. She was asleep in her quarters, and we will return in plenty of time before she wakes." Caprice paused then to wait for their response, but when the doubt remained in their eyes she quickly returned her gaze to the braver blond. "Meg," Caprice commanded, "Tell them that Madame Giry will not find us missing."

Meg's blue eyes sent Caprice a small opposing look, but when the dominants hard gaze struck back she said slowly, "Maman was asleep… and will not find us missing… if were lucky."

The group gave a small gasp at Meg's doubtful words, and the little brunette even began to cry. Immediately, Meg bent down to the child's side, taking the girl into her thin arms and rocking her gently as she soothed, "Shhh, don't cry mon chéri. Josephine… quiet now. I promise you won't get in trouble. Maman is probably unaware that we have gone."

Of course, the child's sobbing did not cease, and slowly her babyish wailing began to get irritating to the older girls. "Oh, make her be quiet!" Adelie snapped while several of the other girls began spitting some choice words along after her to express their equal frustration.

In result, Josephine only began to cry harder, Meg glaring past the child's head towards the others as she spat, "Have some compassion for God's sake. She's frightened… she can't help it."

"I told you we shouldn't have brought the baby along," Adelie retorted coldly, the bitter bite of her green eyes scorning Josephine and only making the child weep more.

"Hold your tongue Adelie," Caprice finally chimed in, and then looking tenderly down upon the child said as comfortingly as she could manage, "Hush now little one. The fair will open soon and you'll get to see the magic you like so much. Won't that be fun?"

Josephine sniffled, her glossy brown eyes looking up at Caprice hopefully as she nodded a quaint little, "Yes."

"Can you imagine?" Caprice continued, playing on the ability to distract the child's thoughts, "This fair is said to be fit for the God's. There are mysteries behind those red tent walls that people have only read about in myth, living and breathing creatures of the unknown. Can you imagine how wonderful their ancient powers must be? Can you imagine the magic?"

A small calmed smile crossed Josephine's thin pink lips, and she giggled for a moment at the thought of the magic she held such a fascination with. Then Adelie's always skeptical voice broke the tender silence as she suddenly gasped, "You won't have to imagine much longer."

Caprice had little time to respond before the crowds made it clear as to what she meant. There was the distant sound of something flying open, and then like sheep being driven into the corral, the crowds rushed forward. The masses pressed their way towards the opened tent, cursing and shoving each other about in a near barbaric race to get in first. Caprice had managed to sweep little Josephine into her arms before she got lost in the swarm, screaming back to her comrades in a hurry, "Stick together!"

Of course, the young ballet rats had no such luck and in a split second they were separated by the current of the crowd. A few managed to latch arms with one or two other fellow ballerinas, but most were soon lost in the masses. Meg was among the lucky ones who had managed to take hold of her partner, locking arms with her thin companion just as the herding began. With a small gasp of surprise, Meg and her comrade were practically lifted from the ground and sent coasting along with the swarm, hurriedly being drawn towards the menacing red tent.

"Mon Dieu!" Meg cried out, although her screams were near a whisper compared to the shouts of the horde around her, "Can you believe this? They've all gone mad! Christine, can you believe this?" A moment of silence followed, and when her comrade did not respond, Meg finally turned her eyes to her distracted friend.

Christine drifted along beside her friend in a daze, her startlingly beautiful blue eyes staring aimlessly off into the immense darkness of the heavens above. The porcelain perfection that was her features turned in awe towards every dazzling star, and her pretty mouth gaped ever so slightly with childish fascination. Her thick blonde locks curled about her stunning complexion and down her back, bouncing lightly with every inattentive step she took.

Meg's eyes narrowed as she watched her friend remain so oblivious to all the oddities happening around them, her gaze expressing a concern that she didn't have the heart to ask about. It wasn't unusual for Christine to drift in her own world, in fact it was something she preferred over the gossiping social life of the ballet rats, but lately it had been getting worse. Meg had always had the gift of being able to draw Christine out of herself ever since they had become friends so many years ago, but for the past three weeks something had changed. Christine no longer seemed to care about her social life at all. Little by little her time spent with Meg had begun to diminish, and even when they were together Christine was never really there. Her mind was always elsewhere, floating about in the Opera's rafters with the ghosts instead of with her friend in reality. It was a miracle that Meg had even managed to talk Christine into coming to the fair, and even then her distant comrade wasn't really there.

"Christine?" Meg pried with some annoyance, "Christine? Christine!"

"Hmm?" Christine finally groaned dreamily, her eyes diverting from the sky and coming to look upon Meg as if she had just noticed her for the first time, "Yes Meg? Did you say something?"

Meg gave an exasperated growl before sighing bitterly, "Apparently nothing of great importance. May I ask where you were just now?

Christine gave her the most unusual smile then, one that shown with both mischief and happiness that Meg had never seen her friend express. "With my Angel of Music," Christine replied distantly, her glittering blue eyes going as if to become lost in the stars once more.

Of course, Christine wasn't given the privilege to drift into her world again, Meg coming to blurt out before she was gone entirely, "What! Christine, I… I don't understand."

"He's come to me, just as my Papa promised he would. It's the most wonderful thing Meg. I have dreamed for so long that my Angel would come, and finally I am worthy of his teachings. He has come Meg, he has really come… and he promises to never leave me alone again. He is everywhere with me now, even here. He promised he'd watch over me tonight," Christine sighed, looking at Meg once more with that unusual smile, "Don't look so worried Meg. I know it sounds mad… but honestly, I'm not imagining it."

Meg's jaw seemed to drop in absolute astonishment, and instead of words she could only conjure grunts for a response in her state of shock. Had Christine gone mad? Meg fiercely tried to convince herself that there was another explanation- like Christine had dreamt this ridiculous story or something. Of course she never quite got around to asking Christine to fully explain herself, because in less time than she expected Meg was standing before the grand threshold into the forbidden realm.

A Japanese woman stood in the threshold, her slender form wrapped in a lavish blue silk kimono and her oil black hair held up by an extravagant comb like some exquisite Geisha. Her skin and lips were painted a pale white, and while her ocean blue eyes looked gently upon Meg, her voice came out a surprisingly harsh tone as she demanded, "Five francs to enter or get out of line."

Meg smiled weakly at the Japanese woman, her hands going to shuffle nervously through her skirts until she emerged with the little money pouch she had concealed in them. Seconds later she presented the five francs needed for admissions, and then silently behind her Christine did the same. Once the Japanese woman counted out the coins and placed them in the content of her own money pouch she stepped aside, gesturing with one elegant hand for the two ballerinas to enter. Meg grasped Christine's arm with excitement, exchanging a look of anticipation with her comrade before the both of them took the few steps into the blood tent.

Inside, the dull world had changed into an explosion of color, all shades of red and black twirling together as if an ancient battle between light and shadow was playing out before their eyes. Around the brim of the tent were placed several small fires in what seemed like small clay bowls, each which hung from near invisible wires from the ceiling and cast obscure shadows over the entire vicinity. The place was mostly crammed with rows upon rows of countless nearly filled seats, but against one wall sat the platform of the attractions for the night. There was a full stage, built with a dark glossy wood that reflected the fire light and blended with the shadows at the same time. From the stage jolted two massive beams, elegantly carved with scenes and creatures resembling those from ancient Greek myths. And from the beams hung the veil of the show, a thick red curtain embroidered with intricate and numinous looking symbols that hid the shows secrets from the prying eye of the public.

The girls had gasped once their eyes had taken in the sinful delight of the room. It was almost as if they were looking at the border between Earth and Hell, and although frightening it also held an obscure fascination.

"Varvara," Christine whispered breathlessly, her pure blue eyes widening in absolute awe towards the massive spectacle.

Meg held the same reaction, her pretty mouth hanging limply open as she silently gawked. No words could explain the overwhelming presence of such a realm, and as they moved towards their seats, neither of them could find the voice to speak of their astonishment. So instead they simply sat, staring at the dark realm of magic that soon would come to life before their eyes.

It was some time later before everyone had been seated and the flap separating Paris from the forbidden realm was shut. Surprisingly, the crowds did not talk amongst themselves or whisper sinful secrets as they had outside. Instead, they all sat in a choking silence, no one even daring to breathe for fear that something would spring to life in that strange world. So in silence they waited, anxiously gazing at the exotic stage.

After a matter of seconds the heavy silence was disturbed, the harsh thud of footsteps and the click of a cane cutting violently through the shadows to ring in everyone's ears. The noise rounded the room like a spectral, circling the crowd almost threateningly without any body to secure its whereabouts. In result the audience became nervous, shuffling anxiously in their seats and huddling closer together as the noise grew louder. Meg and Christine's grip on each other became tighter, and they gasped forcefully as the steps seemed to come at the crowds from every angle. More and more the sound grew, until it literally seemed to be like a giant was about to step down upon them. Then suddenly the sound stopped, and while the crowd was still puzzled, the theater curtains flew open to expose a man standing center stage.

The man wore a gentleman's suit, the entire thing a slimming black with the exception of his lavish scarlet vest that was held together with small glittering diamonds for buttons. Atop his head rested a wide brimmed black fedora with scarlet lining about the rim to match his outfit. A long, black cane with a blood red ruby molded into the top was clutched in his black gloved hands, and for a moment he released the staff to lift his hat from his head and bow elegantly to the crowds. Small strands of ink black hair fell into his pale face as he bowed and then were brushed back again when he rose and replaced the fedora atop his head. The man had a devilishly handsome face; strong, angular features with an attractive cleft chin and high, dominant cheek bones. His nose was somewhat pointed, but the effect was diverted by his charmingly groomed black mustache and sinfully strong lips. Yet, the most attractive of his features were his vibrant jade eyes, shinning like two bright gems beneath the shadow of his hat as he scanned the crowd with a fierce stare.

The audience watched him curiously, uncertain of exactly how to respond to this graceful man. For a moment he let them brew in their bewilderment, but when the crowd had begun to shuffle restlessly, he gestured extravagantly towards the masses and announced with a booming baritone voice, "Ladies and Gentleman!"

He paused for a moment, waiting for every eye to be upon him before he continued intensely, "Tonight, I have the pleasure of presenting to you a world forgotten! From the furthest corners of the earth they have come, through the depths of the oceans and the free sky. From the realm of dreams and myth… and even from the very fires of Hell. They gather here tonight to remind you of an ancient time, a legend deemed false by the chains of logic! But I assure you, Ladies and Gentleman, what you see here tonight is very much…real."

The crowds gave a pleased murmur, the man grinning roguishly at their reaction before he continued. "My name, Ladies and Gentleman," He smiled attractively, "is Desmond Valdemar, and I have the pleasure of being, in a matter of speaking, your ringleader for tonight." The audience clapped at his introduction and Desmond gave a short bow in reverence. "Now," He said, and the crowd fell silent once more, "Most of you must be wondering, what exactly is Varvara? To put it lightly, Varvara is a place between worlds. It is my creation, my sanctuary for those who do not quite belong in the ice cold eye of society. It is a stranger to your kind, and a home to mine. Varvara is the holder of the power keepers I have come to call Deviants, and tonight she opens her doors to mere mortals. Tonight, Varvara will share her secrets. Be certain, you will be astounded, you will be amazed, and you will see what no other show has to offer in the world. Spectacles beyond the imagination! Powers greater than the Gods!"

His words boomed and along with it rose the enthusiasm of the crowd. They stood from their seats, clapping loudly and cheering with delighted excitement. Desmond bowed elegantly once more, his malicious grin portraying his pleasure in getting such a reaction. He allowed them to applaud for some time, but finally his black gloved hands went out and silenced the crowds. When all were seated once more he spoke deeply, his voice entwining about their intoxicated minds like a spider web as the fires about the tent suddenly began to vanish into shadow.

"So without further ado," Desmond hissed alluringly, "I give you…" Then with a tip of his hat the lights faded entirely into the smothering darkness, leaving only his voice that echoed melodiously one word, "Varvara."


	5. IV: The Mask In The Flames

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Phantom or phantom related. My only claim is over the original characters created and used in this story, and my own additional plot.**

A/N: Well, I'm back. Sorry about the long wait everyone, I just happened to be dealing with quite a few changes in my life and just now found to time to get back to this. Not to mention that this was one hell of a hard chapter to write. I had so many things being introduced in this chapter that it's almost maddening to remember. Either way, this is the chapter. Praise the lord that I finally was able to complete it. Now for the responses and then we'll get to the story.

**Nannon:** Thanks for the compliment. I'm happy that you like my descriptions…they take quite a long time for me cause I'm so critical of my own writing, lol.

**Rcgirl2001:** Yea, I have no idea what happened. I got the same alert and I hadn't updated yet. It was really confusing. Either way, it's up now…obviously…but thanks for liking the tale here. Thanks for the support and sorry about the wait.

**AngelicFlutist:** I won't drop you, don't worry. I don't mean to be absent for so long, its just life gets in the way on occasion. But you're welcome for the blonde Christine thing. It doesn't completely bother me when she's not, but I do prefer to make her the way she originally was. Also, thanks for the compliment. I wasn't quite sure about putting this story up at first because its so…well… weird, but I decided to go ahead with it so thanks for liking it.

**Stefanie bean:** Wow, I feel honored getting a review from you. You're one of my favorite writers on this site so I am very honored that you like or even just read my story. Thank you sooooooo much for reviewing, I greatly appreciate it.

**MetalMyersJason:** Well…thank you? I guess that's a compliment? Alrighty…um… thanks for reading.

**DarkRose666:** I think we are all fond of dear Erik, and no worries, he is coming soon. Well, we get a glimpse of him in this chapter, but that's it for now. Thank you for liking the story. I know I deal in lots of pre-Erik story, but thank you for reading it and being patient with me.

**Icelands:** Wow, thank you so much. I'm beaming from all the compliments you gave me in those five sentences. Thanks so much :). I hope I didn't keep you waiting for the update for too long.

**Sanders:** Thanks for the compliment, I do try. :)

**BroadwayGirl22**: Thanks. The point of writing this was to really bring out a new sort of story, so I am glad you like it and think it is one.

**A Heart Full Of Sorrow:** I really hope I didn't keep you waiting too long for this update. I am very sorry for taking so long with putting this up. It is always a treat reading your reviews, so full of creativity. Yes, I can understand why you would be interested in Desmond. He is an incredibly intriguing character with a lot of twists and turns to him. He'll probably be the character that keeps you guessing the most in this story. And yes, I wanted to keep Christine as I really see her, which means a little out of it most the time. I'm glad you like my descriptions and characters though, I do try very hard to get them just as I see them in my head.

Anyways, thank you for the comments and I hope to hear your thoughts on this new chapter. Toodles!

**Inferno**

**By Nuria Shadow**

**Book One: The Deviant Carnival**

"_Yet from those flames there was no light, but rather darkness visible that served only to discover sights of woe. Regions of sorrow, doleful shades where peace and rest can never dwell, and hope never comes."_

-John Milton

**Chapter Four: The Mask in the Flames**

"Creatura di fuoco," The witch chanted through the damp darkness of the fire starter's tent, her bone chilling voice causing Aideen to tremble briefly as she stood exposed under the scrutinizing red eyes of the elder enchantress. The witch sat cross legged at her feet, running the tickling hairs of a brush across Aideen's bare thigh and covering the Deviant's tender flesh in layers of oily black paint. Slender and twisting lines formed symbols of a lost language over Aideen's cursed skin, an ancient design that survived the annihilation of magic and now lived on through the traditions of the witch and her fire starter.

The witch was a near forty years older than Aideen was, although it showed more in the woman's worn and skeletal hands than her pale, wilting complexion. While the white of her hair, the frailty of her thin form, and the immense wisdom of her red eyes clearly hinted her age, it was the witch's fragile hands that confirmed her years the best. They were thin as the branches of the silver Birch, while her flesh held the same white and black speckled coloring as the tree's distinguishable bark. The dance of her fingers was delicate and pendulous over Aideen's skin, swaying hypnotically as if caught in a cool morning breeze, although shortly after the piercing voice of the witch shattered the elegance of the moment.

"Monster all'interno, li lego a questo lato dei mortals," The shrill voice of the witch continued, chanting the words rhythmically as her trembling hands drew the brush up and over Aideen's toned stomach. Aideen shivered slightly from the chilling caress of the paint upon her skin but tried to ignore the unsettling sensation, focusing her attention instead on the muffled roar of distant applause. Varvara was doing spectacularly well this night, the city of Paris receiving her Deviant children as if they were natives to this land instead of dark strangers. Desmond had done an impressive job at stimulating the crowd and the performances that followed him had succeeded in heightening the overall senses.

First of the nights acts had been Armon Gunther, a retired German General singularly blessed with astonishing accuracy and inability to miss whatever target was placed before him. Deadly with his firearms, the man's display of abnormal precision was a delicious appetizer preceding the show to come. In his time of duty the General had been a vital aspect to the German military, but when a serious head injury had left him cursed with constant delusions he had become a danger to his own regime and had been relieved. Two years later Desmond found him fighting his own imaginary war at the foothills of the Alps between Germany and Austria, and after much struggle convinced Gunther to join the ranks of Varvara.

Second in Varvara's show was Eyad Ahmad, an Arab gifted with inhuman strength, and following him performed Rosalind Julian, a highly skilled Australian contortionist whose limbs could stretch far beyond human limitations. After them came the more unusual parts of Varvara's freaky family, the one's who's very names were altered to make them seem even less human.

Seiko Maemi, a former Japanese Geisha endowed with the gift of telepathy followed the contortionist. Properly dubbed The Eye, Seiko performed a display of cheap card tricks, guessing the card an audience member would pick randomly and hitting it spot on before revealing the bone chilling extent of her power. As the climax of her show, Seiko would slyly invade the thoughts of the spectators and as proof to her power speak to them on the terrible secrets within each of their minds. She would play this trick to the point where the crowds would cause a near uproar and then suddenly vanish without another word.

After the startling display from the telepathic Geisha the crowds called for a more light hearted performance, and so entered The Invisible Man. Thomas Nelson gave a memorable act by combining his abnormal gift with Irish humor. Being a man of seventy years of age, Thomas couldn't handle such vigorous performances like some of his fellow Deviants, so his act relied mostly on the effect his transparent appearance had on ordinary people. Walking around in nothing but his leather duster, Thomas appeared to the public almost like a ghost amongst the living. He walked through the aisles of the auditorium, a jolly specter casually chatting with the viewers and occasionally brushing people with his translucent hands to cause a little scare. Eventually he would gather objects from the crowd and perform an intricate juggling act that always filled the spectators with childish curiosity as the objects seemed to float on air. At the end of his act the duster was dropped and the next performance would start, leaving the crowd wondering if Thomas had really gone or if he still lingered silently amongst them.

Selas Wasaki, a Bouda therianthrope from Ethiopia, trailed Thomas's amusing act. Naturally able to transfigure beyond her ancestor's limited form of hyenas, Selas was one of the most talented shape-shifter's that Varvara had ever captured. In her performance she flaunted her gifts, displaying her ability to take on any animal form first before she moved on to show that she could also imitate people. Quite regularly she would take on the form of Desmond or other members of the fair, as well as some of the guests if the crowd was able to handle such an action. For this reason Varvara had decisively dubbed her Skin Walker.

After the therianthrope came the act before Aideen's fiery début, a performance that introduced the nights audience to the ancient powers of Varvara's family. Brig Pippa was an American elemental, born with the ability to manipulate the heavens and conjure lightening with the mere flick of her wrist. While the society of her native Salem had long ago mistakenly deemed her blood line witches, Varvara had christened her the Tempest, one of the two Deviants far more powerful than any enchantress. Her performance lashed out at the mortal world, drowning Paris in a whirlwind of her storm. Wind and rain thrashed the blood tent mercilessly, while thunder and lightening announced its power over the feeble humans that shifted uncomfortably in the presence of the elemental. Despite the threat of the Tempest's power the crowds awarded her performance with applause that furthered Varvara's ego. And so the night air filled with a well earned ovation, the sound that summoned the last of Varvara's children to the stage.

"Il figlio della fiamma, theif delle anime, stasera la vostra alimentazione è suo da guidare," The witch groaned the last of the words, her eerie voice trailing off into silence as she drew the brush away from the Deviant's skin. Slowly the witch rolled her red eyes up Aideen's naked form, inspecting her art thoroughly before she croaked with mixed English, "There, il mio caro. Your cursed voodoo is finito."

Aideen shivered and shook her head, her mind trying hard not to focus on the overwhelming burn forming in her stomach as she coldly replied, "Aye, thanks for that Aradia."

The witch merely scoffed at Aideen's reply, not giving the fire starter the pleasure of a challenge as she gathered her sorcery and scurried towards the closed flap that was the door from Aideen's dressing room. Then just as the witches branch like hands reached for the flap, the fabric door was flung open to reveal their menacing ring leader in all his sadistic glory waiting patiently outside.

One of Desmond's gloved hands went to tip his fedora in reverence to the old woman before he gracefully questioned, "Signora Aradia, is she ready?"

The witch muttered some foreign words and then shrugged, "The fuoco is unstable, but it will remain contained if the pattern remains unbroken."

"Of course," Desmond smiled appreciatively, again tipping his hat before adding, "Grazie Signora." With that he moved aside, allowing the witch to pass by before he stepped into the tent and closed the flap behind him, granting him and Aideen a moment of privacy before the final act. They regarded each other with silent disdain at first, holding a gaze between them that screamed their complete loathing for one another better than words ever could. Of course, in keeping with habit the look remained until someone yielded, and as was always expected of her Aideen was the first to look away.

Desmond's jade eyes studied Aideen's scandalous appearance like an artist judging his own masterpiece, his gaze inspecting every detail carefully while seeming to take no perverted interest in her naked form. Aideen stood silent and still, ignoring the sick sensations she felt when he measured her like a trophy and instead focused on calmly breathing. For several seconds he paced around her to the beat of her steady breathing before Desmond gave his seal of approval by suavely uttering, "You look lovely, my dear."

With that Aideen instantly abandoned her air of peace and shot him a distasteful look, her voice snapping quickly and brutally as she complained, "It's a terrible temptation Desmond, and if ya ask me a bloody bad move. Lookin' like this? Ya practically askin' mortals to touch what they shouldn't."

Desmond chuckled in that humoring way he did when there was clearly nothing you could say to change his mind, and then moving forward he slowly paced about Aideen as he calmly spoke. "It's the spell Aideen," He said in that smooth, persuasive tone that only a fool would dare to question, "If the design is broken it can't take effect, and clothes are far too binding to not smudge the pattern. No, the witchcraft can only be effective if there is nothing to wipe it away, and we want it to be effective, don't we Aideen? We wouldn't want another _accident_ to occur now, would we?"

"I can handle it," Aideen fought back softly, but her voice was far too uncertain to sound convincing and like usual Desmond only scoffed at the notion.

"You can handle it? Oh yes, just like you have been 'handling it' all your life?" His words were purposely sarcastic and cruel, and Aideen had to work hard to keep the anger from showing on her painted complexion. "I'm sorry Aideen," He then added just as bitterly, "My confidence in your self-control is limited, and with the tricks you pull in your act, I will be taking no chances for that beast of yours to get out again."

Aideen scowled at him as she bit her lip, trying to restrain her natural urge to lash out as she stiffly commented, "Clothes would keep me beast at bay."

Desmond smiled smugly at her response, his sharp shoulders giving a small shrug as he whispered insistently, "I'm afraid, my dear, that garments in the past have been less than satisfactory in your case."

A light growl formed in the pit Aideen's throat after he spoke, and the corner of her lip had begun to twitch in irritation before she dared to argue, "Clothes are a sure protection if one of ya damn spectators gets cocky. This spell can't keep the fire inside if they can't keep their hands to themselves. Don't let that bloody witch make a fool outta ya! Desmond, the spell will not hold!"

Desmond turned to face her then and replied with bone chilling anger in his voice, his overpowering tone seeming to make the very night shiver around them as Desmond shouted his dominance, "You are not in a position to debate this! You will flaunt this mortal form tonight and every performance hence forth! And this is my final decision Aideen… nothing you can say will change my mind. Besides…" He leaned in then, breathing a wave of moist and cold air down the curve of Aideen's neck that sent biting shivers up her spine, "You're one of God's most exotic masterpieces. Why deny the public such a shocking sight?" Casually he leaned back, returning to his contained and nonchalant demeanor as another of his sadistic smiles crossed his face, "It's a true shame that the demon in you keeps such potential hidden behind a veil… a true pity." A moment of stinging glares was exchanged between them and then boldly Desmond moved forward, one gloved hand leaving his side and stretching up towards her cheek. The leather bound hands were seeking the deep warmth of her pale skin but stopped mere inches from the soft flesh. Aideen gazed at him darkly, her smoke grey eyes flashing a warning towards his close proximity, a warning that only a fool or the unaware would provoke. Desmond was no fool though; he knew better than to lay a finger on the fire starter and so with a laughing smile he drew back.

The air was filled with silence then, a deep hush that neither of the deviants cherished. Silence meant nothing of a good nature in their world and so it was no surprise that Desmond rushed quickly to fill it. "The lime light awaits you, my dear," Desmond smirked, his hand gesturing towards the tents entrance. Aideen faced the flap that hid her from the prying eyes of society as Desmond demanded, her gaze staring at it as if taking those few steps out into the world was like moving towards some violent end. She shivered and for a moment couldn't bring either of her legs to move forward, but soon Desmond's cold voice pressured her on as he bitterly whispered into her ear, "Oh! And Aideen… disobey me again and I will not bring you back from your place in Hell. Remember, those poor souls are so eager to return the fate you placed upon them." The threat stung true, and like a hot poker stabbing her in the back, forced her out the tent and into the rigid air of backstage.

Hired stage hands and bored Deviants lingered silently amongst the darkness of Varvara's backstage, steadily watching the fire starter pass like vultures waiting for their prey to drop dead. It wasn't uncommon for Aideen to get such looks from her fellow Deviants though; Varvara was in many ways a world of competition and seeing as she held the position as most coveted act it was normal for feelings of loathing to rise up amongst her kind. Friends were few in a world where your life depended upon your worth, and to be able to call even one of the Deviants an ally was a blessing on its own. Aideen had little blessings amongst Varvara's company though, and so her trudge towards the curtain was a biting silence filled with nothing but looks of scorn.

Desmond had come to stride ahead of her, nodding his head towards every Deviant who bowed to him in reverence as he passed. He came upon the closed curtain first, stretching his hand out towards Aideen to silently signal for her to wait before he threw the corners aside and strode upon the empty stage. The crowds awarded his grandiose appearance with booming applause, Desmond dipping his head elegantly to the audience before demanding their silence with a mere gesture of his hand.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," He called out in that deliciously dangerous sounding baritone, "We close tonight with a discussion of the afterlife." Desmond spread his arms wide then as if preparing to embrace the audience but instead he dropped them slowly to his side, willing the hanging fires about the room to dim gently into burning embers with a single gesture. The audience gave a gentle gasp of awe as the mood set for Desmond's coming introduction. He smiled charmingly beneath the brim of his fedora and then erecting his stature began his captivating tale.

"From the moment we enter this life we are, by religions view, being judged. Every word, every thought, and every action we make and don't make contributes to our untimely end where we must all face the verdict of our lives," Desmond paused, allowing his audience to soak in the message before he continued, "Where does that judgment take us? Many throughout time have wondered about the existence of the next realm. The Greeks had the Underworld; the Norse, Valhalla; the Celts, Annwn; Paradise, the Garden of Eden, Gehenna, Heaven and Hell. Humanity has tried through history to make meaning of life and death, for fear that when we die we become nothing more than ash. All speculate of whether our souls are worthy of immortality and all ponder on what the afterlife might bring, but no one truly knows. No one… but her."

Desmond gestured with one steady hand back towards the closed curtain then and the audience shifted to see around him, expecting this allusive oracle to appear. Instead, Desmond returned to face the crowd and continued with a seriousness in his voice that would put unease in even the most carefree persons stomach. "Ladies and Gentlemen, everything that you have seen here tonight is not an illusion," The audience began to whisper uncomfortably at his words, but Desmond quieted them down with his soothing hands, "Deviants are mortals like yourselves born with supernatural gifts, but the woman I am about to show you can not claim the same title. She was born into this world, but is not of it. Her power hails from a place deeper than natural phenomenon, a realm of shadows and fire."

The very air seemed to darken about him after that, growing thick and still beneath the veil of the blood tent as the audience waited in absolute awe. Every eye stared wide at the man and the curtain that hid the mysteries behind him, but none dared to breathe from suspicion that at any moment the night would burst into flames. The mysterious ring leader didn't hold the still forever though, and slowly pacing backwards towards the curtain he eagerly announced, "So tonight my guests, we bring the fire of Hell to the stage in the form of a woman! Welcome now, the prize of Varvara's children-"

He cut himself short then, backing completely behind the curtain and vanishing from view before calling softly to whisper in every audience member's ear, "…Inferno." With his last uttered word the embers about the blood tent died into black ash, smothering the room in shadow that awaited with baited breath the presence of its fiery finale.

From the stomach of the night a soft drumming began to sound, a steady tempo that gradually began to grow louder like some massive army marching forward. The crowds grew anxious in their seats, shifting about nervously as their eyes searched the darkened arena. In the night a shadowed figure crept gracefully onto the stage, floating flawlessly like some dark specter to the center. By the curves of the body and the grace in the steps of the shadow the audience could easily determine the figure to be a woman, and so they all paused in their movements to watch the creature that could only be the Inferno they were waiting for. When the shadow had settled on the center stage the drumming stopped, silence encompassing the blood tent once more in eager anticipation. The night darkened, the silence thickened, and the crowds again began to shift restlessly in their seats until two sudden lights on the stage shocked them into being still.

The lights grew brighter, turning from a deep violet to a burned orange color as the intensity of the light increased. At its darker stage the lights had appeared like two small balls of swirling blood but as they brightened it became very clear to every on looker that the lights were instead eyes. Glowing orange eyes. The shadows eyes measured the audience like a predator would size its prey, a hungry creature awaiting that one opportunity to pounce. The orange eyes captivated every gaze and it was only until the fire starter was certain that every mortal's imagination was like clay to be molded to her will that she began.

Aideen stood strong before every critical mortal eye of Paris, her normal grey gaze radiating a wild and dark orange as the fire within prepared to announce its dominance over the human realm. Inside she could feel it eagerly scratching towards the surface, rising from the deepest pit in her stomach and burning its way through her veins to her fingertips. It stung beneath her skin for a moment as the pressure built, but when it reached the ends of her fingers the fire was fiercely released.

It seeped out from beneath her finger nails, ribbons of gleaming fire that curled back and began to climb up her arms, gradually changing color from a warm yellow to a violent red the further it twisted from the finger tips. Like a snake the fire slithered in streams along Aideen's naked form, kissing its hosts skin with mock fondness as it traced every curve of the human form. The audience breathed a stunned gasp then, although whether it was because of the fire or her bare appearance Aideen wasn't sure. Either way the flames continued their dance along Aideen's pale skin, indulging the false sense of control within its mortal host for the moment.

Her fists clenched about the growing flames to test the success of the witches spell, taking hold of the streams and ordering them to shape to her will. Slowly the fire rose off her skin and twisted down to Aideen's demanding hands, curling together around her fists to form two blazing snake heads at the end of her arms. Her glowing eyes inspected both fires as they slipped about her fingers, the flames taking on the nature of snakes by seeming to rise up and dance before the audience as if readying to attack. Another gasp emitted from the crowd like before, although this time Aideen was certain the fire was the one drawing the attention.

Behind her a whisper hissed from the closed curtain, Desmond's cold voice demandingly urging her to get on with the trick. Aideen growled softly in response, causing the two snake heads to turn their attention upon her opposed to the curious humans. The fire slithered towards her then, the two heads drawing an uncomfortable close to stare her dead in the eyes, challenging her nerve and mocking any small remnant of confidence. She sent a look of hate back at the flaming snakes, and with a single swish of her hands completely extinguished the fire. With the tent plunged back into darkness, Aideen waited until she heard the soft groan of impatience before she dove into the finale.

She had fallen to her knees upon the stage; her hands going out to clench the dark wooden planks so she sat crouched like a cat before the mortal company. Seconds later the fire expelled from Aideen's finger tips once more, only this time it came like a flood. The flames poured from her pale hands, cascading from her painted form towards the edge of the stage and the audience that now began to shift nervously the closer the fire grew. Despite the humans obvious disturbance Aideen still willed the flames to grow, and so they flowed like a river over the edge of the stage. Several frightful women in the crowd gave a short scream when the flames fell to the floor and continued to slither towards the audience's feet, causing many to pull their legs up into their seats in fear. Instead of the fire swarming beneath the seats though it formed three thick rivers of lava up the aisles that passed from the entrance to the stage. Those who were brave enough to reach out to the fire got an unpleasant surprise at discovering the fire was real and just like any fire had a nasty burn to the touch. The fire stretched to the brim of the tent, mere inches away from the blood red fabric that kept their mysterious world disguised as tricks and waited its hosts command. Sighing solemnly, Aideen lifted her glowing gaze to the rivers of fire that patiently lingered for the final act, a trick that each time she performed found a way to tear further into her already tattered heart.

She felt the heat rise from her chest when the fire had reached the end of its patience, and forcing herself to ignore the growing dread, pressed the building flames out of her anchored hands. It seemed like a wave in the river of fire at first, a burst from her fragile body that rapidly rolled down the aisles to the end of its stream. But when the fire reached its brink it exploded into more than just a wave, rising up from the floor to stand six feet in the air like giant cobras preparing to strike its weaker pray. The three towers of fire waved gently in the night, stealing the very breath of the audience and leaving them unable to gasp or scream in terror of the flaming pillars. The fire continued to morph before the widened eyes of the mortals, slowly taking form in the dead silence. Flames twisted and bent to form human curves, arms and legs slowly taking shape beneath a swirling fire torso. Upon that formed the heads and following it the horrible faces that Aideen knew so well. Before all the eyes of Paris stood her nightmare, the ashen demons of her prison come to reality in bodies of fire. Their eyeless sockets stared lifelessly towards the stage, but the gaping holes for mouths had curved into cruel and vengeful smirks. Aideen stared helplessly back at them, her body shivering out of sheer fear for what always came next.

Like in her dark Hell the demons rushed hungrily towards her, gliding effortlessly in waves along the molten river in mass numbers from the three flaming pillars. They scampered carelessly past the stunned crowds as each raced for the fire starter once more, only this time they did not tear at her body. Instead, the fire figures launched from the flaming river into the air, diving down towards their host and attaching themselves like leeches to her skin. Once attached they seemed to slither their way inside her, seeping in through her bare flesh like parasites into her blood. Aideen winced in pain as she absorbed her victims through the flesh, but even this was bearable compared to what the closing of her act did.

She was barely able to hold herself up when the waves of fire had stopped striking her, the three flaming pillars draining down into the river that was slowly drifting back to its weakened host. The fire once more formed one long stream atop the stage inches away from the crumpled Inferno, but it did not yet completely return to the mortal form. Atop the stage the fire took one more shape, curving delicately to form a beautiful woman that resembled a near likeness to its fire starter. The figure did not have gaping holes amongst its face as the others, but instead adorned a kind complexion that shown through beautiful blue fire for eyes. Gently the figure kneeled before Aideen, its molten hand reaching out to lift the hosts painted face lovingly up towards her own.

Aideen reluctantly turned her glowing gaze to the fire, the flame in her eyes darkening somewhat as a deep pain crossed her painted complexion. She knew the face in the fire, knew those blue eyes, and her heart was torn a little more as she was forced to recall who they once belonged to. "Mother," Aideen tenderly cried, the fire in her eyes suddenly dieing beneath a mountain of tears. One hand had escaped the clutches of the stage and reached longingly for the face in the fire, but once her fingers stroked the burning cheek of memories the flames died away. Slithering back into its shell, the fire returned to its broken host, leaving the tent to dwell in darkness once more.

Silence followed for some time, the audience so deeply shocked that they couldn't seem to bring themselves to clap. From backstage encouragement sounded, the muffled noise of forced applause sounding to remind the audience that it was in fact an act. Slowly the crowds came to and showered the night with cheering, the roar of the entertained growing louder by the second. Lights returned to the hanging fires around the tent and showed the two figures now upon the stage: Desmond, who was soaking up the applause, and Aideen, who was standing their silent in her bare form resisting a far too obvious urge to cry. The fire starter shed no tears though, only stood their waiting for her ring leader to dismiss her back into their lowly worlds.

Desmond seemed to pay no mind towards the crumbling Deviant though, and instead bowed sweepingly to the crowds and their applause that was growing even stronger by the second. The curtain of the stage opened behind them moments later, exposing a line of the Deviants who had performed. They all bowed in reverence to the excited crowds and waved like a diva would to her raving fans, all except for Aideen who could barely manage to stand at that point. She was drained of energy, exhausted from the power so much that the exploding cheers seemed muffled to her tired ears. Her body was weak, barely functioning consciously… and so she didn't see the drunken fool until it was too late.

Out of the corner of her eye she had noticed a body moving in, but when she turned to look the mortal man was far too close for her to dodge. A drunken middle class man had mounted the stage, cheering all the while as he approached Aideen with intoxicated cockiness in his glazed eyes. One hand was extended as if he meant to shake hands with her and there was no obvious threat in his expression, but the danger was in his proximity not his nature.

"Desmond!" Aideen had managed to scream when the man was mere inches from placing a hand upon her. Desmond knew the tone in Aideen's voice and quickly turned her way, but by the time he had managed to yell for the man to stop it was already too late. The man had cupped her shoulder, his flesh was upon her flesh, and at that temptation no mortal will or ancient spell could restrain the beast inside Aideen's human shell.

A hand of fire had exploded from Aideen's chest and buried its burning fingers into the human man's torso, twisting its searing grip around the mortal's racing heart. The man had managed to release a scream that killed the applause and drew every horrified gaze, but soon his shouts of pain were burned away. Slowly the fire spread through his veins, searing the blood, the tissue, the muscles, bones, and skin. It worked its way through his body like a plague that destroyed everything in its path, leaving the human form to crumble into ash at her feet as everything he was slowly burned away. Soon there was nothing left and the terrified body of ash completely collapsed before her, leaving nothing but the image of the fire hand grasping onto something gleaming white in its clenched fist. The fire then returned greedily to Aideen's body, dragging the white light with it into Aideen's pale shell, forcing her to absorb everything the man was before the fire lashed out once more. It had tasted once again its beloved thirst for life, and every Deviant knew the worst was far from over.

"Out!" Desmond shouted at the stunned audience, pleading for them quickly to leave, "Out now!" The crowds stood like frightened deer though, completely frozen with fear. Angrily, he launched himself from the stage into the crowd, viciously pulling people up from their seats and forcing them towards the exit. "Leave!" He shouted, before gesturing for the other Deviants to help him, "For God sakes, run!" The Deviants quickly came to his aid, herding the audience out like cattle, with the exception of Aideen still frozen on the stage and an invisible man in a duster that stood beside her.

"Aideen," Thomas's comforting Irish voice whispered to the distant fire starter, "Control it Aideen. Don't let it take you. Fight." Aideen didn't reply though. Her eyes were blank, her mind absent to the fire's control. Slowly the flames had begun to slither out from its host's hands once more, only this time it played master.

The host's body was suddenly ignited in a full and raging red flame, the power of the swift explosion throwing Thomas across the stage and knocking every fleeing audience member over with a mighty gust. The terror had set in then and the blood tent filled with bone chilling screams. Mass panic spread through the crowd, people clawing over one another as they tried to escape. Desmond and the other Deviants were trying hard to get everyone out on an orderly fashion, but it was of no use and soon they gave up and rushed to find cover.

The fire spun around its host like a storm, growing gradually larger with every panicked scream which fueled its hunger on. The curtain upon the stage and the top of the tent had already caught fire and the whole enclosed area was filled with a thick and smothering smoke. Few people had been trapped inside the tent, but for the ones who were there was little hope. Nothing could control the fire now; not even its human host could stand in the way.

Inside Aideen could still see all that was happening, hear every scream and smell the choking smoke. Her mind and senses were awake, but she had no control over her body or the flames pouring out of it. _No!_ Her mind screamed, but no words would come out of her clenched mouth, _No, please! No more death!_ Within her mind she could hear the dark chuckle of the fire, the monster within that scoffed at her pathetic human cries. Pleading was wasted on parasites that had darker purposes for their hosts, but Aideen still cried for the fire to stop. _No more death. Please, I can't take the guilt._

The host's cries went unnoticed, the fire continued to grow and all the while Aideen could hear its manic laughing within her mind. At the point, all she could do was pray that every person had escaped the death trap of smoke and flames within the blood tent. But as normal, her wishes did not come true. She heard the small, choking cough of a girl just as the fire had begun to grow into the aisles. The fire turned her eyes to search the aisles for its prey, and soon she found it crumpled in the eighth row back. There was a petite girl collapsed on the floor passed out from the smoke, her curly golden head hanging limp as her body thrashed in shock beneath its white silk tulle. She was young, no older than eighteen that Aideen could see, but age meant nothing to her beast. The fire reeled back and laughed with pleasure within Aideen's mind, delighted to have found another it could feed off of. Inside Aideen tried hard to reason with it, debating that the girl was just a child and to grant mercy, but mercy was a word unknown to the flame. With that the fire began to slink forward, slithering its way like lava along the ground and across the tent towards the fainted innocent. _No!_ She screamed inside, struggling with her mind to hold the fire back, _Stop it! She's just a child!_ Still the flames crawled, a ravenous creature drooling with lust for the life it could destroy. Again Aideen pleaded, but when it was no avail she went to her last resort. Aideen prayed within, wished to the one who had never stopped the flames before to save the innocent the fire would fearlessly take. With all her heart she prayed for the life to be spared, to be saved from the malicious monster she was a part of.

Suddenly there was darkness all around the young girl, not like the shadows that haunted Aideen's dreams but something else. It gleamed and spun, dancing with movement all around the aisles where the girl had fallen. Like a sea of night the shadow waved delicately and then spun away when its holder turned to glance at the woman in flames. Yellow eyes met Aideen's blazing gaze, fierce yellow eyes beneath the shielding veil of a black mask. The masked figure stood then, his body thin beneath a marvelous black cape but sturdy enough to carry the fainted girl. He held the crumpled body of the young dancer in his gloved hands, tenderly embracing her with thin fingers and lifting her away from the smothering smoke and fire. For a moment his yellow eyes gazed upon the wild fire starter with a rage that made even the fire draw slightly back, but soon the black mask turned away. Then in a whirlwind of shadow, the masked figure vanished as if he had never been there at all.

Inside Aideen could hear the screams of the fire, furious that its prey had somehow sneaked past it. It roared wrathfully and grew larger in its anger, while its human host mocked it's lose with internal laughter. _You failed!_ Aideen laughed, happily mocking the flames, _you failed!_ But the fire only doubled in rage, and with a malicious growl completely buried Aideen's consciousness deep within her Hell, abandoning her to the demons of her past before returning reluctantly to its mortal shell.


	6. V: The Freak Show Family: Part One

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Phantom or phantom related. My only claim is over the original characters created and used in this story, and my own additional plot.**

A/N: And she's back…late as usual, but back none the less. My excuse? Life. As sometimes happens, I had to give up this story for a while for the sake of figuring out my own life. I gave it my best attempt at bouncing back and here is what I got. None the less, I apologize for the lack of updates and my absence, it was not very kind of me. On a good note, I am indeed back. Now, as this story stated in the first semi-intro thing, this is to be the fifth chapter, and if you look at the chapter title it says Part One. See, although I vanished didn't mean I wasn't writing. Thing is, flatly, this chapter is just so freaking long that I didn't want to post it all at once and take a day out of everyone's life so they could read it. So instead I have broken up into two parts. I hope that is alright. Now for the much needed and appreciated but delayed thanks.

**Inferno's Ice:** Ha, cunning name my dear cousin. I'm glad you find this story so appealing, although you already know a great deal of the plot. I do hope you keep commenting though, and letting me know your thought on this story and what should be worked on. You know I appreciate your opinion forever and always.

**Rcgirl2001:** Thanks for the greeting me back, although I did the naughty and vanished immediately after such a warm welcome. I do apologize. As for Erik, yes he made his small but important entrance, and although we won't get his POV of the scene, we will get a few POV's on the incident in later chapters. Thank you for reading, I hope I haven't lost your interests.

**DarkRose666:** Well my friend, I am glad you like this story so much. I know I sadly took more time off from updating this than I should have, and thank you for pressuring me to move forward with it as normal. You're a good inspiration.

**Icelands:** You know, I always enjoy your reviews. Short, sweet, simple, but definitely sums up your enjoyment and does make me proud to see you find this story so lovely. I appreciate your words of praise. As for where this story is going…well…you'll just have to read and find out  .

**Trickstersthiefgirl:** Wow. I don't think I've gotten so much praise in so few lines in my life. Thank you so very much for you compliment and liking of this story. I'm glad you think it's bizarre and scary, because honestly that is a bit of what I've been going for. I'm also glad that you appreciate the fact that Erik hasn't fallen head over heels for the main character with one simple look. Not saying it's a bad thing, it's just not my favorite way to make people connect and with Erik being a character who one can not love simply on looks, it didn't seem right for me to make it that way. And thank you for the compliment…you're amazing too.

**Ashleigh711:** I'm glad you like it for its darkness and abnormality. Seems like something that must go hand in hand with a phantom story, doesn't it? Thanks for the support.

**Chaleonid: **Thank you for the kind words. I always appreciate hearing that people enjoy my writing style, it is something I have tried very hard to form and am still forming to this day. Thanks for the support.

**AngelicFlutist:** First of all, let me say that I extremely appreciate your enthusiasm and liking of this story. I often look forward to your reviews. Also, I am glad you like Aideen. Seeing as there is a great deal of her in this story I think it's important to like a leading lady, although she can be quite unsavory at times. As for the fire, well, I don't want to give a lot away but as of now the fire does in many ways control her, but being a parasite to the host it does not have full control. It is only when she comes into physical contact that the fire takes full control. As for if she ever liked it, well we are just going to have to wait and see. As for the length of my absence, I am so very sorry. It was your request that I not make you wait as long, and I fear I made you wait longer. I apologize immensely for my mistake as a writer.

**To everyone**, I am sorry for the wait, and I beg your forgiveness. It was rude and offensive of me and I do greatly apologize a thousand times over. I won't promise that I will return quickly, because I can never determine where life will take me, but I can promise that this story will be finished one way or another. Thank you all for the comments and please enjoy the story. I hope to hear from you all soon.

-N. Shadow

**Inferno**

**By Nuria Shadow**

**Book One: The Deviant Carnival**

"_From a certain point of view our real enemy, the true troublemaker, is inside."_

_-Tenzin Gyatso, The 14__th__ Dalai Lama_

**Chapter Five: The Freak Show Family (PART ONE)**

"Oh, Aideen," Brig sighed as she crept cautiously into the smoking remains of the blood tent, her stormy blue eyes solemnly calculating the damage done to their vibrant show room. _What have you done? _Varvara's stage had been utterly annihilated, consumed in the wrathful flames that stalked within one of her own children. The delicious red tapestries, the hanging oil lamps, the hundreds of seats, and even the mesmerizing stage curtain had all been reduced to smoldering ash. With the tent burned away, Brig could see clear to the Paris sky above, but it no longer gleamed with childish curiosity as it had earlier that evening. Instead the heavens eyes were blinded and choked away by a veil of smoke, a thick cloak that drowned the city and filled every sense with its foul breath. And beneath the blanket of smoke lay the dismal remains of Varvara's stage, all reduced to a mere mound of black ash upon the soiled streets of Paris.

At this unfortunate sight Brig breathed a deep sigh, her tanned shoulders heaving into a slump as she whispered a short curse of, "Shit." Behind her, the air seemed to chuckle at her words but she denied to acknowledge it, instead putting her full attention towards the ashes of where the stage had been. It was nothing but a mound of rubble now, and although the circumstances seemed unlikely that the fire starter would respond, Brig called out blankly, "Aideen?" The ash did not move in response. For a moment, the constricted emotions of Brig's nature were wrinkled by the distressing silence, and in that time a sense of panic managed to slither its way to the front of her mind. _The choking, brittle smell of toasted flesh, laying all in a crusted mess upon the once gleaming stage, only hints of its previous form showing in the hollowed out shape for a skull. Aideen…dead. Burning… forever burning in her own solitary hell. And those gray eyes, those soul seeing orbs, will continuously watch me through the ash and the smoke, soundlessly screaming… _"Stop it," She whispered to herself, willing her unfeeling logic back into control to chase back the haunting imagery. It was silly for her to think such thoughts when she knew Aideen wasn't lucky enough to be the cause of her own demise. Her eyes fluttered shut for just a moment then, allowing her to concentrate on the ever moving world around her. Nature twirled insanely through life, continuously changing, forever dying and being reborn into something else. It was chaos, utterly beautiful chaos. Her slender body gave the slightest of chills in feeling the skies breathe, and reaching upwards she effortlessly took hold of nature's intense pattern. Gently she sighed and with her the wind sighed lovingly against its partner earth, turning the broken and burnt soil to gently unfold its captive.

A few feet behind Brig the floating image of a worn duster drifted forward with the wind, hovering like a ghost behind her right shoulder as the smoke and ash cleared. He waited in patient silence as the remains were slowly uncovered, but the gentle Irish accent of the older Deviant chimed up only when the black had gone, saying pointedly into the night, "There she is." A worn sleeve lifted up to direct Brig towards the smoking and broken boards of the stage where a figure lay crumpled in the fetal position, Aideen's naked form stained to gray from the waste caused by her flames. From the distance she looked not to be breathing, motionless and still like a rotting corpse within a burning grave, but both of the Deviants knew that Aideen would not have been lucky enough to be dead. Thomas sighed from behind Brig's shoulder once the wind had stopped and carefully stated the obvious, "Lass ist out."

Brig followed the pointed direction of Thomas's arm and nodded, saying affirmatively, "Yes." She cast a glance over her shoulder at the floating duster then and frowned a little, her face contorting in such a way that hinted at her indecision in saying something. _Is this right? Is it worth the cost? _Brig chose against speaking what hovered in her mind though and turned her attention back towards the body, sighing once more before she began to pick her way through the rubble to the broken stage. It took little time for her to navigate her way through the obstacle course of debris, and soon she stood hovering over the crumpled form of their fire starter. The invisible man came to stand on her left, the duster rustling gently with his movements as he settled near Aideen's feet.

"Lass looks to be unharmed," Thomas's voice spoke with light enthusiasm, "That be a good sign."

Brig nodded in agreement with Thomas's statement as her eyes scanned the woman before her, but her words did not share the same upbeat as she reminded her comrade, "Yea, but the fire never hurts her Thomas. Would make no sense for it to damage its own host; it just pull's her into a state of unconsciousness. The real damage will be internal; the guilt will eat her up, until Desmond… until he…" _Oh God, how can I let this happen again? _Brig couldn't finish her statement then, her voice choking up into the back of her throat at the dreadful knowledge that caused so much pain.

There was no vocal response from the ghost man at her side, only the gentle thud of his transparent hand coming to pat comfortingly upon her shoulder. Thomas squeezed the tender flesh once, a silent encouragement for her to be strong, and then the hand was removed. The duster arm came to rest beside its bodiless hips and then the air where Thomas's head should've been made a gentle and tired sigh, his voice saying heavily, "Well, let's get tis over with."

_Over with… _Brig nodded as she drew the cold and unfeeling ice back over her heart, looking at Aideen only one last time with pitying eyes before looking to Thomas with empty ones. She offered her hands out, demanding their means of transporting her without even asking. The invisible man immediately stripped himself of the trench coat, becoming entirely non-existent to his comrade's eyes with the exception of the hovering coat he held out to her with his transparent hands. Brig took it from the old man with a harsh snap of her hand and laid it over the naked fire starter, bending down momentarily to wrap the duster carefully around her so that most of her skin was safely concealed. After doing so Brig straightened up and looked out towards the air in front of her, guessing where Thomas stood as she quickly asked, "Sure you can carry her?"

"Aye," Thomas confirmed from the darkness. There was a moan from the air then, the noise of old muscles stretching further then the body liked, and then the motionless fire starter was suddenly hoisted up into invisible arms. She rose slowly into the air as Thomas struggled to cradle her against him, but when Brig motioned forward to help him the Irishmen only laughed, "No need lass. She isn't heavy; just these old bones not ast good ast they once were."

Brig smiled politely and took a step back, not assisting the man for his dignities sake. _Stubborn old man._ She turned and faced the way out then, saying to Thomas over her shoulder as she began picking her way through the rubble, "We'll take her to my tent. I'll see to it that she recovers, you just be careful to keep your hands on the leather there Thomas. It would be a shame to lose another life to that monster." _Monster_, Brig cringed a bit at the harsh words that escaped her lips, but as usual she didn't acknowledge the mistake, just lifted her zigzagged head and moved onward.

Thomas kept silent to the comment, simply letting out a heavy sigh as he followed the storm maker out of the ruined center stage. Into the murky city streets they went, pausing only momentarily by the burnt entrance to make sure that all mortal eyes were averted before continuing on. They took the few paces needed to enter the closest dark, dank, and secluded alleyway across the square from them, and then they stopped. Brig did one more take of their surrounding within the crusting scene of the alley, making absolutely sure that they were alone before she reached into the inner most pocket of her heavy wool sweater. From inside the blue threading she pulled forth a small glittering object, an almost flat stone of gray base coloring surrounded by several patterns that nearly resembled leopard spots. The stone felt warm resting in the palm of her hand, and she squeezed it once for sheer pleasures sake before continuing on their task.

"Keep an eye out," Brig whispered over her shoulder as she placed the small stone firmly between her thumb and index finger, taking a step forward then towards the filth covered building wall in front of her. _Disgusting brick, it will sadly have to do. _Thomas grunted a sound of acknowledgement as Brig took the stone to the wall, lifting it high above her head and to her left before dragging it against the mortar, gray chalk grinding from the stone to form a horizontal line to her right. She made the line long enough to out stretch a man two times her size and then took the stone straight down, bending low to make a long vertical line from where the other ended and the ground began. She straightened after ending that line and then led the stone to the opposite end of the horizontal line, placing it on the tip of the line and drawing down just as she had on the other side. After finishing she returned to her standing position, her eyes critically inspecting her drawn work. The gray lines connected to form an unmistakable but sketchy doorway, one that Brig considered with disdain as she returned the torn stone to the inside of her blue sweater. A designers eye told her it wasn't even, it wasn't symmetrical, but it would have to do for the rushed occasion.

"It's fine Brig," Thomas's heavy voice sounded from behind her, urging her to move onward as he whispered, "No need for perfection lass. Let's jist get 'er inside."

Brig made a somewhat growl of a noise but nodded, reaching out and placing her palm against the cold mortar in the dead center of the doorway. Her voice came out gently then as she whispered Aradia's ancient sorcery to the stone, commanding the drawn gateway to release it's hold on the world and take them to the hidden places of shadow. "Aperto," She whispered firmly, and beneath the warm flesh of her palm the stone jolted into an awkward shift. Brig pressed her weight against the wall then, and as if it had always been pliable, the drawn door gave way. It swung inward as if the wall were connected to hinges, opening the path to Varvara's most hidden part of its demon circus.

The Deviants called this place of shadow and secrets Sanctuary, although the dark complexion of this hidden world didn't hold the face of a holy haven. Inside there lay an immense emptiness shroud in darkness, except for a single blue light that shown down from an invisible source in the dark sky upon a small huddle of black tents on the shadowed plane. There were twelve tents in all, ten small single person tents surrounding two larger community tents, one of which was a dull brown color from lights hinting activity within it. In all, the place had a look about it as if it was some little child's nightmare, a twisted mind trick that was meant to play on those that fear the different and the dark. _Home sweet fucking home_, was all that passed bitterly through Brig's mind as she stepped silently into the black shadow of their lives. Thomas slipped in moments after her, huffing slightly from the strain and load on his poor withering arms as the sketched doorway swung closed with a foreboding boom behind them. Brig tensed at the sound as she always did until the harsh echoing was consumed and silenced by the darkness surrounding them. When the boom had gone she gave one quick glance at the hovering body behind her and then faced forward, silently continuing on towards the mass of tents. There was no activity in the small black city except for the light coming from one of the two larger tents, of which Brig softly noted to her older comrade, "Desmond still hasn't finished his lecture with the others."

Transparent eyes turned to gaze at the dim brown light before the Irishmen's tired voice groaned, "So et would seem. Lucky we be ta 'ave been sent ta fetch little lass here, huh?" He chuckled softly to himself, despite Brig's silent and obvious lack of amusement.

Refusing to respond to the old man's laughter, Brig concentrated on the dark path before her, the black world she sadly knew so well. Quickly they circled the two large tents to the back end of the establishment, only stopping once they reached a small dark tent settled directly behind the dimly lit larger one. Brig sighed a breath of small ease once near her tiny home, and she gently lifted back the flap door with slight tenderness as she waved Thomas in. The invisible man and his deadly bundle entered as commanded, followed shortly by Brig behind him.

The small tents were certainly meant for one person each though, and both of the Deviants had to bend down at the waist to keep from bumping their heads against the metal polls holding the fabric ceiling up. Inside, Brig's surroundings were sparse. In the center of the tent was a tiny near flat mattress with a single thin white wool blanket and frumpy white pillow to accompany it. The bed was small in comparison to Brig's substantial height, and seemed to have no great support in its wimpy frame. In the thin strip of spare space to the right of the bed was a small pile of books, their binding torn off to keep their titles unreadable to anyone who didn't pick them up to look inside. Beside the tower of books was the last of the few things in the empty home, a small simple mahogany chest meant to contain clothes. It was an average dresser, containing no secrets but one, sketched very obviously into the wood of it's front. A carving of the initials _A&B_ inside a plain but perfectly shaped heart was etched in the small chest's surface, holding the only joyous and bitterly painful memories of Brig's meager world.

She looked at the chest only once upon entry and then turned her gaze to the hovering body, saying only after she gestured to the only place to put the Deviant, "On the bed, I guess."

Aideen's feet went towards the bed first before her body was laid gently upon the mattress. The dents from the grips of Thomas's fingers on her leather bound legs vanished after a moment and then there were the sounds of steps moving a bit away. He sighed a little once the weight was gone, his old bones relieved to be free of the strenuous task. "Down," Thomas sighed with a triumphant chuckle, but his laughter was cut short when his unseen eyes looked upon the solemn face of the storm maker. Brig's gaze lay heavy upon the motionless body, staring at her with a sort of terror as if she had just saw Aideen as a dead corpse again opposed to just sleeping. _Forever burning…those gray eyes. _Thomas cleared his throat to get her attention, and when those stormy blue eyes were upon him he tried hard to confidentially assure her, "She'll...she'll be alright lass. Aideen's a hardheaded Deviant; she'll find a way ta delay da end."

Brig shook her head and took a seat at the edge of the bed near Aideen's feet, although her eyes cast with tearful longing at the fading carving upon the dark chest. She breathed a tear shaken sigh before dragging her gaze to the cursed Deviant, her gaze watching the soft rise and fall of where Aideen's bundled chest when she whispered bitterly, "Don't kid yourself, Thomas."

There was another tired groan from the darkness before the invisible hand placed its self upon Brig's shoulder once more. The comforting squeeze of his hand was followed by Thomas's gentle words of sincerity, whispering softly to her, "I'm sorry for Adem…I truly am lass." _Adem…oh God, my Adem._ Brig could only close her eyes in response, and when it became apparent that there was no need for further discussion, Thomas removed his hand. The air gave a soft puff of breath and then foot steps were heard gently pacing towards the door. The flap between Brig's home and the dark world beyond was cast aside, and the unseen man stopped only to request kindly, "When ya get the chance, if ya could return me jacket to me, it would be much obliged."

Brig nodded without looking his direction said a harsh, "I will." There was no response from the old man then, only the swish of the curtain falling between them. _Silence._ Alone, Brig edged her way carefully around the passed out fire starter, pulling the leather duster free from her deadly skin as she went and flinging it over the chest once the coat pulled loose. She came to stand awkwardly over the fire starter then, her stormy gaze looking down upon the creature before her carefully. Despite Aideen's obvious dangers there was a subtle hint of vulnerability in her bare form. She wasn't ungodly thin as most the Deviants had come to be; there had always been a certain amount of muscle and meat to the middle aged Scot, but lying there ragged and discolored Aideen nearly lost that coveted image of health. Her cleanly skin was crusted in soot, making the various nearly faded scars along her body seem more prominent than ever. The normally wild red curls of her head lost their bounce, oddly lying straight against Brig's frumpy pillow and stained an unsavory charcoal color from the ash. Aideen's body curled an unnatural way towards her torso, each limb twisting painfully like grasping tree branches into a half formed fetal position. _So helpless_, Brig had surmised in silence, her gaze going to inspect the fire starter for any unnoticed injury. Her thoughts almost pitied the creature beneath her, the unseen frailty that when awake and in control Aideen would never display. But then Brig remembered Aideen's nature, her always harsh facade and snappish tongue, her motiveless hatred and the unbreakable barricade that was her soul. The parasite that lived within her had infected her heart as well, and that much Brig could not pity.

She scoffed to herself once she had finished inspecting the fire starter, and then bending down she leaned in close proximity to Aideen. The creature's shallow breath blew in moist, warm gusts against Brig's skin, the tiniest bitter scent of ash wafting some from the fire starters lips to Brig's nostrils. She shook her head to clear the smell, then released a sigh of her own, still tasting dinners over salted cabbage stew in her own breath just as she murmured, "Aideen."

There was no immediate response to her call, only the same shallow breathing pumping through the fire starter's chest. "Damnit," Brig cursed under her breath, and then leaning in to where their noses were almost touching she called in a stronger and more commanding tone, "Aideen. Come back, Aideen."

This time the body gave a sudden twitch of movement, startling Brig in a way that she flung back in fear. _Shit!_ The storm maker managed to hold a girlish scream inside, instead forcing that energy into calling the fire starter's name once more. She called out in a voice of dominance, forcing her vocals to be deeper and stronger as she demanded the waking of her fellow Deviant, "Aideen! Come back! Now!"

A harsh gasp of air was pulled in through the fire starter's gaping mouth then, and from deep within the crevasse of her throat a demonic scream began to grow. The scream sounded of two voices, one a woman and one a demon, both crying out in anguish in the echo of some terrible and blood draining chord. The two screams cried out in unison, their voices sending that piercing siren spinning into the darkness. Brig had to cover her ears in result, a feeble attempt to keep her hearing from the stabbing wave of the monstrous wail. _Oh God, make it stop._ Then to her prayers the two voices split. Above rose the tortured scream of the woman and in its wake the small inhuman cry seemed to fall out of existence. Soon only the female's voice remained screaming, and when the shout reached its height to echo through the endless darkness Aideen's eyes opened. At first the blazing swirl of the demon fire still remained in those cursed orbs, but it was only seconds later until it was drained into the smoky gray of her human iris. Moments later the screaming came to an uneasy end and Aideen's eyes twitched to look at Brig as if she were seeing her for the first time.

"Whater?" Aideen's voice came out weakly and near unclear to Brig as the fire starter's Scottish accent flooded out in full swing, "Whater' ye…get aff. Ye aff yer heid?"

_Huh?_ Brig backed up at the fire starter's pushing hand gestures, but she raised one eyebrow and looked at Aideen funny as she asked in a very blunt manner, "What? Aideen, I can't understand a word you're saying."

The fire starter stared at her silently then as if she couldn't grasp why Brig didn't understand, but then memory recalled the reality of the situation and she smirked slightly. "Aye, course," Aideen responded with the slightest hint of mock amusement. She fell silent for several moments after that, the red head just laying there and staring at the bar that held the tent up for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, just as Brig was about to protest this attitude, Aideen rose up on her elbows and looked directly at the storm maker. She cleared her throat with a harsh cough and then began asking in her best watered down tongue, "There, ye understand this better?"

Brig released some of her nervous tension and nodded, edging a bit closer to see Aideen's expressions better as she carefully asked, "How you feeling?" She settled on the floor near the edge of the bed, being careful to keep her distance from the cursed skin.

The fire starter didn't return Brig's courteous words with the same tone though, and her gaze fell upon Brig in a sort of 'are you kidding me?' look. Aideen then spoke in the same voice of bitter sarcasm, spitting with just a hint of directed anger, "Jist grand, wouldn't ya think?"

_Bitch._ Brig glared at the ill-mannered Scot then, but chose not to continue the banter; instead leaning forward to grab a spare nightshirt she had lying along the ground near the wood chest. She picked it up and tossed it rudely in Aideen's direction, her commendable aim sending the shirt directly towards the fire starters face although Aideen caught it before impact. Brig frowned a bit at her miss but shrugged it off, saying carelessly to Aideen, "It's clean, make descent of yourself."

Aideen nodded and replied with a terse, "Thanks." She slipped the nightshirt on in one easy slip, ignoring the slight tug of the fabric around her breasts as she pulled it on straight. Thankfully the shirt fell to about her mid thigh, and in knowing that Brig wouldn't dare try to touch her Aideen felt a bit more at ease. Afterwards she gazed over Brig's small tent, inspecting the home of which Brig hadn't had company in for longer than her memory could serve. There was no straight emotion written on the fire starters face as she eyed the others things, just silent contemplation until her gaze returned to the fellow Deviant. "Not a bad home," She commented with a forced polite smile written over her face, "Although I'm sorta surprised at yer lack of décor."

"Yea," Brig ran a quick eye over her surroundings and shrugged, saying with a bit of the negative undertone they had all formed over time, "I tend not to try and make a home out of some place that doesn't feel like one."

"Well ye only been here eight years," Aideen said in her distant and nonchalant voice, the one Brig had come to distinguish as the voice Aideen used when she tried to convince herself and others that she was indifferent, "Ye still got thoughts of freedom in yer head. Ye young blood, and an American at that. Yer a bred rebel."

_You're one to talk._ Brig raised a cold eye upon the fire starter then, and replied in a snappishly harsh tone, "I ain't the only one Scot. Last time I checked you've been here for more than fifteen years, and you're still pulling stunts like this. Rebellious natures bred into you too, barbarian."

The gray depths of Aideen's eyes flashed angrily at the offensive title and her lips twisted somewhat into an obscure frown. "I'm nah barbarian," Aideen spat back, her body straightening and tensing enough for her to look at least slightly intimidating even in her weakened state, "And I'm naht hopin' for shite. It wasn't nah bloody stunt that 'appened. I told Desmond da paint wasn't gonna keep me creature in, and he knows better than to be careless enough to let someone get near me."

"You can't blame this on him," Brig snapped back, her form straightening in the same manner although with her height added she looked much more threatening, "He can't control your power any more than you can."

"He could've at least let me wear me damn clothes!" Aideen's terrible two voices came out through her shout then, and when the fire starter had to bite back her tone the voice still lingered ever so slightly beneath Aideen's normal whisper as she knowingly and solemnly asked, "How long?"

Brig breathed sharply. _She knows._ For a moment she tried to play it off as if she were blissfully unaware of what the woman meant, saying with strained innocence, "How long till what?"

Of course, Aideen wasn't fooled though. The fire starter gave Brig a look that should have burnt a hole straight through her skull, but instead of harsh words Aideen simply requested, "Brig…don't treat me like I'm a fool. I've been trapped in this damn place long enough ta know when someone hast over stayed their welcome. I burnt down the blood tent Brig, I know its over." Silence held between them for some time then, each staring into the others eyes, one gaze that held the question and the other to guilty to give the answer. Only Aideen broke the silence when she repeated in a soft but unwavering demand, "How long?"

"Tomorrow," Brig whispered back, the air about her mimicking the chill that ran up her spine as she shakily admitted, "Tomorrow morning." _Oh God, Aideen, I'm so sorry._

Again the uneasy smog of silence fell between them; again they only stared into each other's perplexed eyes, but this time there was no expecting an answer. Each knew exactly what was to come to those who had run out of time. Suddenly Aideen moved, startling Brig's nerves enough so she scooted away. In silence the fire starter rose to her tattered and ash stained feet, her eyes focused on the flap entrance that lead to the dark world beyond them. Brig stared up at her from the floor, noting how much Aideen looked like the eternally burning corpses she feared so much at this moment. _Dead eyes_, was what she saw when she looked into the stunning smoke of Aideen's distant gaze.

Brig's lips quivered then, her body thrashing with confined tears as she tried to whisper, "Aideen… I…I'm so-"

Aideen's smoldering eyes bit off Brig's words though, and she snapped her attention quickly to the younger Deviant below her. "Don't pity me," The two voices commanded, ringing bitterly from Aideen's parched lips like a hard slap in the storm makers face. Brig's eyes pleaded with Aideen's, but her beseeching was only shoved away by hostility. Those gray orbs turned away then, facing the door once more just as Aideen took her first step towards leaving. Her normally graceful walk became heavy and foreboding as she approached the flap to their dark kingdom, but just as her hand grasped the black fabric to pull the curtain open Brig cried out, "I'm sorry!"

The fire starter paused in the doorway, light from the blue beams outside glistening off the soot across her body in such a way that she resembled an elegant sculpture of callous granite. The statue turned her head ever slightly then, enough so that Brig could see the perfectly supple lips curve slowly into a hard frown. They opened once to release a two voiced sigh, and then she spoke in one tone, that well known sound of brutal cruelty as she spat, "I didn't pity you when you lost Adem…don't you dare pity me."

Then in a swish of fabric, a flash of light, and sudden return of shadow, Aideen had gone. In the new lonely silence Brig sat still, her eyes grasping blankly towards the place where she had seen the last of Aideen. _Goodbye_, echoed like a burial march through her mind, the words she'd never get to say to the once leading lady. The monster and the woman that by sunrise would be no more.

**To Be Continued…**


	7. VI: The Freak Show Family: Part Two

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Phantom or phantom related. My only claim is over the original characters created and used in this story, and my own additional plot.**

A/N: This isn't a great chapter, nor is it very long. I know I promised more to come and although this is more it isn't self-satisfying. The thing is…I'm in a painful situation at the moment. Tragedy has struck my families life since 9/27/07 when the oldest member of our family and my most loved aunt passed from this world. My Aunt Lavigne was 96 years old and one of the most spirited people I've ever known; I loved her very much. Unfortunately with age comes the failing of our fragile bodies. She had a stroke, and during rehabilitation died in her sleep. I'm happy to have seen her one last time, I'm happy that she is no longer in pain, but I am beyond the meaning of sadness for the loss of her in my mortal life. So for this reason I present you with a pretty crummy update. Forgive me, I am not myself in these times.

**To My Reviewers:** Forgive me that I don't do individual ones on this chapter. My mind is just so lost from the recent events that I can't seem to think of things to say right now. Know that I appreciate your support and comments, and that it brings me some joy at this time in my life to know that you all like my work. I admire you all. Thank you so much for all your kind praise.

Now I will let you all go, into the incredibly short update I present you with. I will return with more in time, just need to recover inside first. Enjoy friends, and I hope to return to you all soon.

**Rest in piece Aunt Lavigne. I love you.**

**Inferno**

**By Nuria Shadow**

**Book One: The Deviant Carnival**

**Chapter Five: The Freak Show Family (PART TWO)**

The red light of dawn kissed Aideen's pale skin with acid lips, pressing its sardonic brilliance into the woman's face as if it meant to mock the gloom to come with its radiant bliss. Gray eyes winced at the scarlet stream that had replaced the blue light over their tent city, and she sighed a little as the new ray brought the image of her world to clear. Without its shadows Varvara looked arid, like a shapeless thirsty desert beneath a grueling, robust sun. It's oily black tents were stained a muddied shade of brown, and its sleek dark earth that at night seemed flowing lush as a sea now cracked and crusted like stale bread. Below her Aideen dragged her booted foot harshly into the ground, watching with a stoic gaze as the soil snapped and curled away from the pressure. It built up around her shoe like a mound of sand, but with no wind to smooth it the place remained a stamped hole when Aideen removed her weight.

_A hole._ Aideen laughed at little at the cruel irony this prison home poetically played out. A red sky on the morning of a fire starters demise; an effortlessly made ditch in the earth that she would soon be lying in. It was all so sickeningly symbolic. Varvara was in its own way celebrating her end as elegantly as it had celebrated her arrival fifteen years ago, only this time it was not a warm welcome but instead a mortal catastrophe. _The night sang when I came here, but now…_heavy eyes drifted up to the sickly brown master tent that awaited her arrival, her final living destination. _Now there's only thunderous silence in a world built from applause._

"Move fire starter," A heavy, turbulent voice pressed beside her, drawing her distant gaze curiously to the roar. In her thoughts Aideen had almost forgotten her Goliath like usher, the towering Arabian staring down at her from a staggering nine feet with large, piggish black eyes. Aideen took the spectacle in for a mere second then, as if she thought she could capture the massive image and take it with her to the afterlife. Eyad stood like a bronze god above everyone else, the massiveness of his body only outdone by the range of his inhuman strength. His muscles were well toned and round, protruding from every corner of his body as if the giant were made of nothing but the thick tendons. His browned skin was scarred and massively tattooed with what he said were symbols of his crimes, although the rolls of his blue robes covered the majority of the rough inking now. The only always visible inking was that of a weeping woman with a sun emerging from her voiceless scream that was painted into the skin atop his hairless scalp. Sadly, Aideen realized now that in the past fifteen years she had worked with Eyad never once had she asked him the deeper reasoning on his odd markings, and now that opportunity was no more. _Too late fur bonding…neva been good at it anyway._

The giant looked at her with his oddly large eyes then, and with one skull sized hand, gestured towards the master tent before them. Aideen followed his gesture with her gaze and winced when realization struck again. Fifteen years ago the massive tent had been a welcoming home amongst the bitter rejection of the human world, but now the warm comfort and love it once renewed held all the dry and choking tastes of ash. The place had become her grave, one that she would finally be put to rest in.

"Thata way?" Aideen asked with unrestrained sarcasm, her eyes turning back to Eyad with one last laugh as she joked, "I neva would've guessed."

Eyad didn't find her comment amusing though and he simply crossed his massive arms over his equally massive chest before staring at her stoically. _The big choob._ Aideen grinned wirily back and remarked as her gaze smirked into the giants black orbs, "Geez, don't laugh too hard Eyad, ya might mistakenly display signs of ah sense of humor."

Aideen gasped dramatically for effect but the only reaction she got from the Deviant was a firm shove against her spine, Eyad's enormous hand reaching out to push the fire starter abruptly towards the tent. Despite Aideen's numerous layers of clothing she could still easily feel the full power of Eyad's blow, and in shock her body fell forward, coming to land on her knees before the master tent as if she meant to grovel for forgiveness. The small sting of impact coursed through Aideen's knees and palms, but she bit back the pain with a growl for a warning to the oversized thug.

"Eyad," She hissed and the giant understood the warning, taking a few cautious steps back from the crouched fire starter. Both knew that even with the Arabs considerable size included, Aideen's power deemed her the most dangerous in their Deviant carnival. So Eyad carefully kept his distance, although he once more silently gestured to the master tent with unspoken impatience.

_Ya heartless arse, I get the bloody point. _Aideen rolled her eyes at the giants repeating gesture in attempts to retain her cocky negligence, but when her gaze lifted once more to her death she could only nod, her voice quivering with mounting fear as she spat, "Yea… we wouldn't want to keep the master waiting."


	8. VII: Arrangements: Part One

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Phantom or phantom related. My only claim is over the original characters created and used in this story, and my own additional plot. **

She has returned. Well, I am back. Thank you to everyone who has endured my absence. Once again I apologize for my disappearance. After all, I am happy to see that people are still reading this.

About this update, it is supposed to be the last chapter in this book of the story, but after I had finished this chapter I found that there were just too many pages to it. So like the last chapter I have divided this one in two. I'm posting the first part now and in a few days time I will post the next portion of this chapter. Warning though, this is a very, very long chapter.

I hope you all enjoy this new chapter, and I want to put out a thanks to all the people who kept with this story even through my absence. Thank you a thousand times for your support and I look forward to hearing from you all. Enjoy!

-N. Shadow

**Inferno**

**By Nuria Shadow**

**Book One: The Deviant Carnival**

"_Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her: but once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game."_

_-Voltaire_

**Chapter Six: Arrangements (PART ONE)**

Brig sat quietly amongst the hay, vaguely listening to the worthless squabbles of her fellow Deviants. Sprawled in the dried grass beneath the canopy of Varvara's second largest tent, the young elemental counted what was left of her company. There were only seven of them living now, including herself. Brig could remember a time eight years back when there had been close to thirty of them, before the time of Desmond's Purges. Much had changed since those years; so many had died, devoured by their dark leader's greed and lust.

_Maurizio. Sunil. Daray. Kiara. Huyen. Inali. Adem…_ So many friendships lost; lovers dead. All too temporarily satisfy an unquenchable hunger. Desmond was insatiable, and those Deviants lost were always defiant enough for him to justify his Purges. Powerful from birth, defiant by nature, it had all been just a matter of time for Aideen. But all the same, time went too quickly.

Brig took in a harsh breath to contain her emotions. There was no point to it now; the ceremony had been done, it was over. Besides, it wasn't like she had lost a dear friend. In all her time there Aideen had been nothing but rude and distant. For eight years the fire starter treated her like a competitor. She'd always been a quarrelsome, temperamental witch, but honestly Brig never really minded Aideen's hotheaded nature. She knew why the fire starter kept people at such a distance… or did.

From across the room Brig gazed heavily upon the collection of Deviants, all arranged opposite of her amongst the sparse settings. The lesser of the master tents served as a sort of mix between the dining hall and the prop storage. On one side sat a row of three badly chipped tables and a rusted old stove, the makeshift version of the family's kitchen. On the other were all the collections of décor and props for Varvara's wondrous shows, thrown about carelessly on top of a cushion of old hay. A little over an hour ago they had all been summoned by their dark master to gather here and await further instruction. As of yet Desmond had not shown his face and his Deviant followers were beginning to give in to their shared impatience.

"This is absolutely ridiculous," Brig heard the familiar whining of her Australian comrade carry through the tent. She turned her eyes upon the pretty contortionist Rosalind and listened to that silky voice of hers go to waist on petty grievances, "It's been well over an hour. I shouldn't have to attend this silly meeting. Desmond knows I have better things to do than wait on him."

"Oh? And here I was thinking that's all you were good for," The sardonic response was followed by a soft cackle of a laugh trying to be restrained behind lush lips. Selas, Varvara's legendary shape-shifter, had a laugh that was remarkably hyena like and Brig habitually shivered at the spine tingling noise.

"Bite your tongue, Beast!" Rosalind spat defensively back, her violet eyes flaring to demand silence from the skin walker. As normal though, Selas only cackled hysterically as Rosalind tried to swallow down her embarrassment by aimlessly braiding her soft yellow hair. It was no secret amongst the inhabitants of Rosalind's nightly relations with their dark leader, so in attempts to draw the attention away from herself the contortionist cleared her throat and started on a more sensitive subject. Her voice took on the air of snobbish indifference as she sighed, "Certainly is quiet isn't it? Without the constant complications of that hotheaded Scot, it's almost peaceful here."

Brig twitched as a nerve inside her was harshly struck. How dare the contortionist speak of Aideen in such a way, like she'd been such a pest! Such harsh talk of the dead was not tolerated, in any culture. No matter the fire starters foul nature the deceased were to be respected. Brig rose from the hay then, prepared to storm across the tent to remind the Australian brat of her mortal manners. But as normal, Brig was undermined by the swift scorn of Varvara's stubborn Irishman.

"Don't ye be talkin' like that," Thomas barked from his seat on the corner of the wobbly bench. The old man's painted face cracked as a frown etched across his complexion. His unseen glare was fixed upon the contortionist, sending vibes of contempt her way despite Thomas's lack of visible eyes. Still, the old man continued in an oddly cold tone of voice, spitting harshly towards the contortionist, "Do ye have no shame? Aideen's dead; it don't matter no more how lass behaved. Besides, not a one of ye took the time to know anything about her beyond that. Lass couldn't help 'er nature; it was the only way she knew how to keep 'er beast locked away."

Despite the man's speech, Rosalind snapped back in her usual snobbish manner, "Oh please, the Scot enjoyed being so belligerent. Despite her distaste for touch, she could have at least had the decency to be more sociable."

"She was trying to protect us!" The words had emerged from Brig's lips before she even realized she'd opened her mouth to speak. Within a second every eye in the room was scaling her up, with the exception of Gunther and Seiko. Of course the psychic and the psychotic had more interesting things going on in their heads opposed to the argument of damned Deviants. Brig paused in silence, her blue gaze darting from one person to the next. Now that every gaze was upon her she wasn't sure how to react. Defending the dead was one thing, but trying to make up for Aideen's past discretions was quite another. Such understanding could raise questions, making her seem defiant and Brig had no intention of giving Desmond the pleasure of taking her soul.

To Brig's relief the thought wasn't given time to marinate. Quite suddenly the soft, melodic voice of their local psychic hummed out. The petite woman rarely uttered a word but when she did her voice always seemed to float out in some bizarre melody. This time the woman was simply seated upon one of the benches, staring with watery blue eyes into a cup of steaming tea. She didn't seem to be speaking directly to anyone but she uttered a message that they all understood, "He's coming."

Glances of contempt were exchanged, each person daring the other to open their mouths about past conversations. None were stupid enough to make that mistake. Brig silently took the few strides to make it to the other side of the tent. She settled on the bench next to Thomas, giving the old man a short smile before staring expectantly at the tent entrance.

Silence settled around the remaining seven. Breathing became controlled and measured. For a moment even the air seemed to fall into an anxious still, but soon it stirred. The tent flaps were violently thrown back and in entered the dark form of their sinister master.

Desmond sauntered in with an invigorated shine in his eyes and a wicked grin on his lips. He carried his signature ruby studded cane and tapped it heavily against the ground with every step, sending a bone rattling clang through the air as he walked. Their dark leader was dressed quite formally in one of his several black suits and Brig momentarily noted that in all her years there she'd never once seen Desmond wear anything else. As normal a black fedora was placed elegantly atop his head, partially shading his face beneath.

On entry the Deviants either bowed completely or tilted their heads in reverence to their master. Desmond waved his hand slightly as acknowledgement and then went to silently inspecting his crew with those fierce jade eyes. It was a few moments before he even uttered a sound, but when he did there was an unusual amount of delight in his normally haunting voice. "Why the long faces, my pets?" Desmond questioned with a hint of sardonic humor hidden behind that perfectly groomed mustache. No one quite dared to answer his question, so instead the Deviants diverted their eyes in any direction other than their leader. Desmond snickered darkly to this, then followed by tapping his cane hard against the ground and bolstering loudly to them all, "Come, come now. This is a joyous occasion!"

A feral growl followed that statement and Brig turned her head to find the noise was surprisingly coming from the transparent old man. The painted white lips squeezed harshly together and then parted for where an unseen tongue pronounced angrily, "Ballasch!"

"Pardon?" Desmond quickly responded, turning his stinging eyes upon the invisible man.

"Ballasch!" The old man cursed loudly and plainly back.

"Thomas!" The high pitched squeal of Rosalind sounded appalled, "Please, this is not the time."

The eyeless gaze of Thomas drifted for a moment to glare his disappointment at the contortionist, but within seconds he shot back in a fiery fit of rage, "What? I won't keep quite about 'er any longer." The old man slid his gaze back to their dark leader. He visibly shivered slightly under the weight of Desmond's scorn but was too stubborn to simply sit quiet. "Aideen was ah good lass," He said, straightening up in his seat as best as his old bones would allow, "She didn't harm no one who didn't touch 'er first. She did 'er job like the rest of us and she was ah hell of ah sport fur puttin' up with your games. So why? What was the reason Desmond? Cause lass can't control 'er own demons? Ye feck. She had no power over it."

Desmond almost instantly reeled on Thomas and even the shadows seemed to grow as he boomed, "Aideen has always had control over her own power. She allows whatever demon may possess her to control what is rightfully hers. She's weak!"

"Weak?" Thomas tried to pull himself to his feet, but ended up supporting his weight with the tabletop, "She's tried to fight 'er beast and lost! How could she possibly of had control? No, ye know what I think? I think ye jist got tired of waiting. Tired of the hunger."

Desmond took a threatening step forward and for a moment those dazzling jade eyes of his flashed a startling, blinding white. His gloved hands curled and shook ever so slightly. Desmond hated being questioned almost as much as he hated being disobeyed, and Brig knew all too well what happened when Desmond lost his composure. So despite her own personal feelings, Brig stood from her seated position and barked towards them both, "Well it doesn't rightfully matter now does it?"

In that moment all eyes were upon her again. Most of all she noticed the expression on Thomas's painted face, pleading desperately for help in his case. The man had a good soul; he knew when things weren't right in the world and he was willing to die to fix them. _But I'm not like him and I'm not willing to lose another friend_. Brig frowned and shook her head, of which Thomas's face instantly drooped. His confidence shrunk in response and so Thomas fell back to his bench in silence as Brig stated as apathetically as she could manage, "Aideen's dead…doesn't matter why." _Forgive me, Thomas._ As usual, a stiff silence followed. Deviants avoided meeting eye to eye, and all shifted uncomfortably in the thick hush.

Suddenly Desmond made a huff of a sound, and when Brig looked at him she noticed a shockingly uneasy smile upon his face. That was odd; Desmond had never been the type to express anything more than unchained rage and sardonic scorn. She'd never seen him even once express any measure of doubt, and yet there it was. That tiny twitch on his lips and shifty distress in his eyes; something was up. Seconds later he began to twiddle with his cane and then deeply sighed, "If only it were that simple darling."

All eyes turned to their dark leader and furrowed in confusion. _What does he mean by that?_ Almost instantly the snooty Australian spoke allowed Brig's puzzled thoughts, Rosalind saying with her constant air of flirtation to her lover, "What do you mean by that, my lord?"

Desmond didn't pause to think of an appropriate response, but instead spat a second after Rosalind stopped speaking, "I have a new assignment for one of you." The Deviants lifted their eyes and furrowed their brows at their master. Desmond's expressions slowly slid back to its normal haughtiness and he grinned slyly before elegantly stating, "It will require some matter of acting experience, patience, appeal, and a keen eye to keep on our hotheaded friend."

Another bit of silence followed, but this hush was deeper and filled with shock. _What had he said?_ Brig's mouth twisted and her eyes grew wide. That couldn't possibly have meant what she thought it meant. There was no way; there was no such thing as a second chance in their world. For a second Brig considered this to be some harsh trick being played on her mind, but seconds later the raspy gasp of her invisible comrade sounded and Thomas was heard stuttering, "Ye…ye mean?"

"She isn't dead," Desmond stated flatly.

Again more shocked silence ensued. Brig was certain she'd stopped breathing. Thomas beside her inhaled sharply and grabbed shakily for his chest. Everyone else either exchanged 'I told you so' sort of looks or shared disgust for the whole matter. Out of all of them Rosalind was the only one who found the energy to speak. Rage boiled up behind those pretty violet eyes of hers and drove her to spit with absolute fury, "What?!"

Desmond looked mildly surprised at her reaction for a short time, but his expressions soon twisted into his dangerously composed faze. He eyed his crew shortly and then relaxing his shoulders seemed to speak rather nonchalantly, "She lives, for now. Circumstances being what they are, she is more use to me alive."

Rosalind seemed to seethe at this and across from her Selas cackled a little before asking between snickers, "May I inquire to what prompted this change of heart?"

Desmond turned his gaze to the shape-shifter and smiled broadly, "A moment of genius my dear."

"What does Master mean?" Eyad said in a long, drawn out tone. Their local strong man gazed in confusion at Selas, his eyes asking his better half for the explanation. For all his strengths Eyad did slightly lack in brains, which lead him to a lack of understanding.

Selas ran her thin, dark fingers down Eyad's arm and tried to retain a cackle as she softly explained, "It seems…Aideen has something the Master wants."

"But…" Rosalind's pretty lips fell ajar and she stared in astonishment at her lord, "but this makes no sense. No one survives the Purges… ever! Why is she still alive?"

"Because!" Desmond stated loudly, his tone boisterous as if he were announcing something to his precious audience, "Aideen has stumbled upon an abnormality in the Parisian public." Brig and the others retained their looks of shock upon their dark lord. He couldn't have meant what excuse jumped to their minds. It'd been so long since then; they'd thought those days were over after the wreckage the 'Trials' left behind. _It wasn't possible…_ and yet Desmond reared his twisted smile and said plainly, "A man during the burning of our show tent displayed some curious traits to our dear fire starter. I've seen this clearly in her memory; there can be no mistake. Something…unusual is lurking the streets of Paris."

Again silence followed, but their time for contemplation soon died off when the haunting melody that was their psychic's voice chimed up. She chanted then in an almost singsong fashion, rocking back in forth in psychotic bliss, "Little monsters hidden away, don't want to come out and play. Tiptoe, tiptoe, tiptoe, tiptoe, tiptoe, tiptoe."

Almost instantly the equally fanatical mind of their German gunman started screaming the same thing in his native tongue. For a moment the air about them was filled with these repeated screams, until one high pitched shout from their enraged contortionist spat, "Someone shut those two idiots up!" Seiko instantly fell quiet and Selas left the arm of her lover to comfort Gunther and silence the old man. Rosalind on the other had seethed and spun about to growl at their master, "Desmond, you can't be serious."

As normal Desmond dashingly smiled and responded coolly with, "I'm being quite serious my dear."

"But…" Rosalind's eyes got larger and she started to stutter, "we…we haven't seen another Deviant since the Trials. That was s-seven years ago Desmond."

"Then it is quite time, isn't it?" He said with a laugh back before stamping his cane once against the ground.

Finally another spoke up, Selas swallowing a nervous laugh to question, "But Desmond, how could any of us possibly make contact? We can't show our faces out there. After last night, they'll chase us out the city."

Desmond nodded but clearly seemed to have already decided this for he instantly retorted, "We shall have to be discreet. Besides, if there is for certain a Deviant in the city, I will only be sending one along with our little fire starter to gather him."

"What?!" Again Rosalind was thrown into a fit of rage and she practically turned red. Brig gazed at the fluffed contortionist and sighed. The woman was going to cause trouble about this in any way she could manage. A sort of rivalry had existed between the Australian and the Scot for years and Brig was certain Rosalind had been rooting for Aideen's termination. She glared at Desmond then before whining, "But why?"

For Aideen's sake Brig stepped in then, saying with a glare towards the brat, "She's the only one who's seen him. We need her…" She paused then, her gaze going to drift to their dark leader. He looked at her critically, waiting for her to slip up and show that compassion he so despised. Brig caught herself though and smoothly transitioned into stating tersely, "But only for now, of course." She nodded to Desmond, pretending to agree with his antics. In truth she had relished in the slow pace the Trials had caused in Desmond's collection. There was no hunt without Deviants, and therefore no shameless manipulating and kidnapping those to Desmond's will. But now tables had turned once more. _Another Deviant, another captured soul, another death_. They all knew what it meant. Aideen would get an extension on her life for the price of taking another's from him. Frankly, she pitied the new target.

"Great. Just great," Rosalind growled, slumping helplessly down onto a bench.

Beside Brig, Thomas straightened in his seat. He cleared his throat for a second to attract the attention of his comrades before the painted lips moved to ask, "And yer certain this man be a Deviant?"

Surprisingly, Desmond wavered in his confidence. His gloved hand wrapped about the ruby of his cane and squeezed tightly as he tapped the opposite end tersely on the ground. For a moment he seemed to stumble over his words and then coughing he tersely stated, "Nothing is for certain as of yet." Instantly distasteful mumbles began to rise from the crowd, but almost as quickly Desmond silenced them by stamping his cane hard on the ground. "But!" He spat in his crews doubting faces, "We do possess the means of finding out. Seiko, my dear, there's someone I need you to locate."

The mumbles died entirely then. From across the room the swirling blue eyes of their elegant Geisha turned sharply to meet Desmond's persuasive gaze. In a simple glance the woman knew what her master commanded of her. That pale skin wrinkled for a moment in distaste, but soon she dipped her elegant neck and closed her human eyes to the world. Silence settled about them once more, a thick silence that made Brig's stomach churn. This was it. The psychic had a keen skill for locating Deviants, although it lacked in exact precision. Brig had heard her describe it once like flashes in her mind, a path of breadcrumbs. The woman couldn't see the Deviant, but instead simply feel its presence. Sometimes her visions gave her flashes of the Deviants location, but normally it took a great deal of research to pinpoint the exact location. Of course, her trick had never been wrong. If Seiko sensed a Deviant then there was surely one to be found.

Seiko pulled in a deep breath and then sat silent for a moment. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly, twitching beneath the soft flesh, searching beyond Varvara to the world outside them. Finally her painted lips parted and she spoke in a voice that sung, "Life…everywhere. So many voices. There's so much noise here, so much noise."

"Move beyond the noise," Desmond pried, taking the few steps to stand before her, "What do you see?"

"Shadows," She spat, her hands clenching into tight fists as she dug deeper into thought, "Shadows like a current. Moving, swishing, this way and that. All over and all on. Shadows move like dark water. Hard to see through all the black. So many nameless faces. Moving like water, all over, all on, all drowning. Breathe in, breathe in the black. Empty voices, empty so-" Suddenly Seiko gasped, pausing in her search from the shock of something that made her quiver.

"What?" Desmond leaned forward and took her by the shoulders, shaking her lightly as he demanded to know, "What is it? What do you see?"

"Light!" The Geisha shouted and her body twitched violently about, "Light in the black! Beating, breathing life! Small, so small, but so bright, so brilliant! There! Within the multicolored gleam! Under the watchful eyes of Apollo and his muses. It waits, it watches, silently twirling. Careful, careful, there is so much shadow around it. But the light is so bright…so beautiful…"

"My God…" Next to Brig, Thomas had inhaled sharply. He coughed for a moment before regaining his breath in time to murmur, "There is ah Deviant out there."

All eyes turned to Desmond then. Their leader stood staring contemplatively at the black silk of Seiko's hair. Hypnotically he muttered the single clue they received, "Apollo…" Some time passed where their dark lord only stood staring and then suddenly Desmond smacked the ground with the end of his cane. A triumphant smile grew underneath his trimmed mustache and finally Desmond spun his gaze to their skilled shape-shifter. "Selas!" He shouted, snapping for her attention.

Selas immediately straightened her posture, "Yes my lord?"

Desmond spun off into a wild spit then, pacing as he commanded the African therianthrope, "I want you to go out into the city. Take to the skies. Cover every inch of Paris. I want a list of any building that flaunts the image of the 'Sun God', as well as a list of each one that displays any form of the nine muses. Theaters will most likely be a prime target." A few seconds he paused to think and then noticing that Selas hadn't budged spat aggressively, "Well? What are you waiting for? Go!"

Selas twisted uncomfortably for a second but under the scrutiny of her lord's gaze she soon sprinted from the tent to go do as she was told. As soon as she was gone Desmond spun about to face the entirety of his Deviant collection. "As for the rest of you," He hissed with a wicked, animated grin, "I'm sending you out into the city. Dress accordingly; try to blend in as best you can. Speak nothing of Varvara and when asked your business there simply state you are a collector. Rosalind, take Gunther with you, and Eyad accompany Seiko. Thomas, I assume you can rely on your skills to get around unnoticed." Thomas nodded his acknowledgement.

Desmond continued thoughtfully to them, "The four of you who will be mingling with the locals, I want you to question them on any abnormalities about Paris. Thomas, when Selas returns with the list I want you to go to each collected spot and eavesdrop on the staff. When you are all finished with your tasks return to me with the results. I will decide from there where our target lies. Go now, out into the city." He gestured towards the tent entrance, of which immediately they went. By Brig's side the old man rose up with a groan and headed on. He paused only at Desmond's side of which their dark lord gestured, saying to him, "Thomas, prepare yourself sir."

In that short time the room was emptied, with the exception of Brig and her dark master. Confusion ran for all of a few seconds through Brigs thoughts. _What is he…_ and then it hit her. Brig bit her lip in frustration before nodding. _Typical._ "So…" She said, tersely clicking her tongue as she stated, "I assume since I'm not part of the investigation, you've decided who's to be watching Aideen."

Desmond smiled wickedly and nodded, "You're smart Brig, and quite a powerful little girl. You know as well as I do that no one here matches up to Aideen's abilities as you do. Out of all my Deviants you are the only one who I trust can bring Aideen down if the worst should happen. There will need to be some changes of course, little things so that the story I have chosen for you both is plausible."

Brig tilted her head to one side in confusion, "Story?" _Oh God, he couldn't possibly mean…_

"Yes," _Damnit._ Desmond smiled cleverly her way and nodded as he said in a sing-song voice, "You didn't think I was going to allow you both to blaze in there as you are, did you? No, this situation must be handled with care. This man I have you chasing after… it was clear by the fury in his eyes that he will not be an easy one to coax." _Great, a difficult one._ Yet, Desmond seemed pleased with this new challenge, her dark master now gone to happily humming.

"Right," Brig said, clicking her tongue. _This is not going to be good…at all_. She ran a rough hand through her zigzag hair and stared at a few of the blonde strands trapped between her fingers. _Not good at all._ Brig audibly groaned and forced herself to carefully question, "So…what kind of changes are we talking about here?"

She was almost instantly sorry for asking that because Desmond graced her with his shifty smile. That smile never meant anything good. Still her dark leader simply adjusted his fedora and with one elegant gloved hand gestured towards the tents entrance. "We shall discuss that in a moment," He said smoothly while casually offering his arm to the elemental, "For now, let us go wake your fiery associate."

**To Be Continued… I know, long chapter eh?**


	9. VIII: Arrangements: Part Two

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Phantom or phantom related. My only claim is over the original characters created and used in this story, and my own additional plot.**

Alright, so confession time. That was certainly a lot longer than a few days before this portion of the story was up. I apologize for that. Apparently I am turning out to be one of the worst updaters yet. Don't know how many people read this Author's Note but I've got a few treats for you all to make up for it. Extra little tid bits.

I have recently drawn pictures of the whole Deviant cast, as well as some individual pictures of Aideen and Brig. I am in the process of coloring them in Photoshop as we speak and will have them up shortly. If you wish to check them out, my deviantart account is where you can find them. Unfortunately, fanfic. net isn't allowing me to post the link. I'll try to figure out a way to post it and then put a note of what the link is, but for those who are more computer savvy than me, my account on deviantart is LaVieBoheme18. Yes, I am a Renthead. And if you know a way for me to get a link posted without fanfic. net blocking it out, let me know. Those pictures should be up soon.

Now for my thanks of the past reviews:

**GhostlyWail:** Welcome to the story, and thank you for the compliment. And gotta tell you, I understand the length of the back story is a little irritating. In truth, I just couldn't find a way to make the rest of the story comprehensible without it. The good news, we are pulling away from back story now and about to enter Opera stage.

**Ashleigh711:** Hey Ash, I'm glad you're still enjoying this story. Long time to update, but good to know you stick around.

**Skekitot:** Glad to be back, and no worries, there is an Erik approaching.

**AngelicFlutist:** Hey, glad to see you're still around. Sorry about the lateness, again. Still, thanks for understanding, and for the record, yes, I'm doing a lot better. I hope this chapter helps make this story coming back to.

**DarkRose666:**Thanks for the welcome back, and yea, I'm returned. Sorry about the wait, really lost my own hype there. Oh well though, here's what I got. I hope you enjoy.

**Icelands:** Glad you are still around. And thanks for being so understanding. So yea, I took a long time to update and for that I am sorry, but I'm here, and back. I hope this was worth the wait.

**fictionreader:** Thanks! I'm glad you've enjoyed this story. I appreciate the time you've taken to read it. I hope this update was worth the long, long wait. Thanks for reviewing.

Alright, thats all I have to say for now. I hope you all enjoy the story, and remember, if you want to see my pictures of the Deviants,** check my deviantart link in a day or two.** Enjoy friends!

-N. Shadow

**Inferno**

**By Nuria Shadow**

**Book One: The Deviant Carnival**

**Chapter Seven: Arrangements (PART TWO)**

The morning Monsieur Poligny received the red note, he was certain that his prayers had been heard.

It had been hand delivered to his office at the Opera Populaire by the oddest acting person of color; a woman who bizarrely seemed to cackle chronically under her breath at every little notion. Out of politeness he had tipped the woman before sending her on her way, but surprisingly the jackal stood fast. When asked her intentions she would simply laugh before flatly demanding an immediate response. Poligny, being so taken back by the woman's animalistic laughter, hadn't thought to refuse such a swift demand. Instead he fell into the fine fabric of his best office chair, tore loose the shapeless black seal, and began to read the scribbled ink laced upon blood red paper.

What Poligny read he wasn't quite certain he could believe. At first he had acted appalled, dubbing the letters contents a ghastly lie. He denied the existence of such a notion entirely. Childish he had said, childish that one would believe is such a silly thing as a ghost. However, the woman seemed not in the least daunted by his act. She stated simply that her employer had a solution to his... problem. After that she snickered her way out of his office, taking with her his uncertain response while Poligny was left with his thoughts.

Truthfully, Poligny had had no intention of going anywhere that day. The Populaire was experiencing problems once more as they prepared for their coming performance of 'Faust'. Props had gone missing, pages from scores had simply been torn out, and all the costumes had completely vanished. Not to mention there monthly allowance was due to be paid. In all he couldn't afford to leave that day. Still somehow that afternoon Poligny found himself seated on the shaded patio of La Pourpre Vigne, awaiting the appearance of his mysterious caller.

The second rate cafe was dank and gloomy, overshadowed by the taller and more sophisticated structures built up around it. The décor was simple, unartistic slosh. The table cloths were heavily stained. The floors were coated in a thick dust that Poligny was certain was permanently stuck to the tiling. In all it was a disaster of a meeting place. To his relief, the patio at least supplied fresh air and the cafe offered a passable Chardonnay.

Still, Poligny wasn't quite certain why he was at this excuse for fine dining, sipping on hardly fermented wine to meet a radical stranger. The idea was all so deranged. A ghost hunter is what the letter suggested he would be meeting, a poacher of the supernatural. Normally Poligny would have scoffed at the thought, but after the things he had seen in the past few years he was just about willing to take anything. In all honesty, Poligny had become a very desperate man. And so he waited at the cafe, ignoring his duties for a solution to his spectral problem.

He had waited for a good half hour before his guests arrived. Three people had entered onto the shaded patio: a tall, lengthy woman with odd zigzagged hair; a shorter, voluptuous woman with fiery red curls; and a dark, trim man with vibrant jade eyes. All three held an air about them that seemed to swarm with some unseen oddity, a sensation that both compelled and alarmed Poligny. _An unusual sort_, he surmised as he tipped his head in acknowledgment of their presence. The man alone nodded back. Jade eyes had turned to his female companions then and whispered something before making his way to the table. The females remained at the threshold, silently watching them from afar.

He approached smoothly, a gentleman in black, offered his hand out to Poligny on meeting. "Monsieur Poligny," The man greeted, smiling pleasantly beneath the line of a groomed mustache, "Please forgive my lateness. People in our position must be discreet in our travels."

Poligny shook the man's hand, firmly taking hold so as to present his status, "I have no doubt. Please, have a seat, uh, Monsieur...?"

"I prefer to remain anonymous," The man said with a polite smile as he took the chair opposite Poligny, "My line of work, you understand."

"Oh... of course," Poligny responded politely. _It doesn't matter anyways, I won't be hiring them for their names. _A trembling hand loosened his collar as he cleared his throat and continued, gesturing to the two woman watching them from afar, "Will your associates be joining us?"

"Momentarily," The man said casually, "I wish to discuss our terms first before I involve my staff."

_Getting right to it I see. _"Of course," Poligny breathed before continuing in a lighter, more conversational voice, "I must say, you're intentions do perplex me. I was surprised to receive contact from... a ghost hunter. Many don't take our little problem literally enough to express such interests. How did you hear of it?"

The jade eyed man smiled slightly behind his mustache, "It is hardly a well kept secret Monsieur. And as for my interests, lets just say, I am a collector of sorts."

Poligny nodded but remained quiet, half expecting the stranger to continue with his explanation. Oddly, the man didn't. He remained silently staring at Poligny, his odd eyes seemingly stripping him of his stature. Poligny sighed hard and took a quick sip of his bitter wine, gathering his nerves so to ask in as much a business fashion as he could, "So, let's get down to it shall we? You're letter clearly explained your knowledge of our Opera Ghost and your hopes to... well..."

"Capture him," The man replied in a short, matter of fact sort of way.

"Ah, yes, capture him. Now forgive me Monsieur, but I am curious. How exactly do you intend on capturing a ghost? It is my understanding that such apparitions-"

"Because what you have is not a ghost Monsieur Poligny," The man interrupted as he leaned forward and placed his hand firmly on the table, "What you have is an abnormal, living being. Now you have every right to fear him; although this man is not of the spiritual realm that does not make him any less dangerous. But the thing that resides in your Opera is very much alive. And very easily attainable."

"I think you may find that less true once you enter my Opera sir," Poligny sighed, staring for a moment into the depths of his wine before stating grimly, "There is much mystery in that place. One can easily get lost in the winding halls, or drowned in the darkness. And our ghost is no silent apparition. I have heard him myself, a voice without a body whispering in the night. Of course, after we received his list of... requirements, well, I knew that some shrew blackmailer was trying to victimize me. I said I wasn't going to give in to his hoax like my partner has, but... denying him only seems to incur his wrath. He keeps my staff in a constant state of unrest, he disrupts productions, and there have been more than one violent occurrence. He is terrorizing us. His demands are costing us thousands, and if they are not met then indescribable horrors pursue. And to make matters worse, no one has been able to stop him. Behind the curtain, the theater is his domain. It is a perfect world to hide in."

Surprisingly his guest only scoffed, "My people are perfectly capable of navigating hidden worlds. Trust me Monsieur, there is nothing in your Opera that my staff have not seen."

"How is that possible?" Poligny said, leaning in slightly as he shifted his gaze between the man and his companions in the distance.

The jade eyed man followed Poligny's view and seemed to hiss almost as if it were a warning, "I'm afraid, that is another of the things I must keep anonymous Monsieur."

"Ah," Poligny slumped a little before turning his attention fully upon his guest once more. Inside a part of him cringed under the weight of the man's gaze. The man was not horrid to look at, in fact he was a rather handsome fellow, but those eyes had a spine tingling effect. They seemed to stare right through to every shameful secret underneath. Nervously Poligny tried to retain his air of control, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he inquired, "Well... have you had much experience in this sort of thing?"

"Oh yes," The man nodded, resting casually into his seat, "In fact, most of my team are the result of my success." A proud smile spread beneath his mustache, clearly displaying the man's unusual vanity in such a fact.

Poligny on the other hand was not as impressed by this statement. "What?" He muttered, almost choking on the shock, "You... you staff these spirits?"

"Yes," The man stated, almost in a way as if to ask Poligny 'you don't'? The man smiled broader before continuing in that same measured tone, "I told you Monsieur, this is no ghost. It is a man, a very... unique man." The corners of his lips twitched a little as his smile slipped into a more mischievous grin.

Poligny's eyes narrowed. This man was clearly not playing with a full deck of cards. "Believe what you wish," He said, simply ignoring the man's odd preferences, "But whatever is in the Populaire is no man. Men do not vanish into thin air."

Surprisingly the mans smile only seemed to deepen. That look of knowing crossed his eyes once more, but as before he only diverted, "I'm sure there is much to be discovered within your Opera House and I assure you we will get to the bottom of it. But, might I suggest we return to settlements?"

"Very well," Poligny sighed. _Now comes the inevitable fraud. _Poligny brought his folded hands atop the table and cleared his throat uneasily, "How...how much? I'm willing to pay a good sum for his capture, but I have you know, I am not a man of endless funds."

"Oh no sir, you mistake me," The man replied, looking earnestly surprised, "We have no need of your money."

Poligny's mouth momentarily fell open in shock, "No... no money? Well what then? What do you expect to gain from this?"

The man smirked, "A ghost Monsieur." He adjusted in his chair, straightening his dark suit as he almost apathetically stated, "Make no mistake, we will not be doing this for you, or for your money, or your precious Opera House. What we are after is far more valuable. Simply stated sir, you have an unusual problem, and as I said earlier, I am a collector of unusual things." He smiled inwardly and then leaned forward, staring Poligny straight in the eye. His tone turned to a one of strict business and he stated confidently, "Allow two of my staff to reside in your Opera, give them insignificant jobs, poor housing, pretend they aren't there. Allow them to blend with your team so that they may search the Populaire in secrecy. One month Monsieur, three max, and I promise you, your ghost will be gone."

Poligny nodded, partially pleased. Still, he tried to haggle and groaned, "Months? That is quite a bit longer than I had hoped this operation would take. Are you certa-"

The man cut him off however with a quick snap, "This is a delicate process Monsieur. It can not be completed in a day." The man ran a hand roughly across his brow before sighing, "Act in haste and we could miss our opportunity completely, of which then you can count on having a ghost for as long as the Populaire stands."

Poligny frowned, "Well what could possibly take that long? What is your process?"

"Also," The man said, dropping his eyes to the table in a nearly uncomfortable fashion, "Something we can not reveal, Monsieur."

Poligny took the moment of discomfort to gain back his confidence. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat, taking back his air of manager before he began to object, "So let me see if I have this correctly. You expect me to allow two total strangers, doing God knows what, to run ramped in my Opera, on the whim that you will capture a violent spirit, without sharing with me credentials, a plan, or even your name?"

"Yes," The man replied flatly, "Unless of course, you have better means of dispatching the problem." Poligny froze and for a second the two of them came eye to eye. They stared for some time, silently sizing each other up, until the jade eyed man suddenly stood. Poligny habitually jumped, startled by the mans rapid movement, but to his greatest surprise, the man straightened his suit as if he meant to leave.

"You could perhaps try a seance, or a priest," The man said, smiling mockingly at Poligny as he aimlessly shifted the fedora upon his head, "Although I can guarantee you that the only thing they will leave your Opera with are your francs."

Poligny watched him, questioning the man's motives with his eyes. He was quiet too long though because soon the man began to gather himself to go. "Wait," Poligny heard himself say, even before he had the time to think his words over. The man paused and lowered his eyes curiously upon Poligny. For a second Poligny fidgeted in doubt, but he didn't allow himself to dwell on it too long. The man was right, what other opportunities would he get? "If..." Poligny stammered, "If you turn out to be petty thieves, I swear to you-"

The man scoffed loudly, "Please, the only thing of value in that pretentious theater is your ghost."

Poligny stared at the man skeptically, "So that's it? I house your people, ignore them, allow them free range, and you rid me of my nuisance? All without pay?" The man nodded in response, and Poligny sighed a small sigh of relief before asking lastly, "And if it doesn't work?"

The man calmly replied, "Then we shall leave, without a cent."

"And... that's all?"

"That's all."

"And the catch?"

"Monsieur, it is only your ghost we want. I assure you, nothing, and I mean nothing, else is of greater importance to me."

The men held their gaze. Now was his final moment. Poligny could barely believe his luck. After all the torture and all the fear, he would finally be rid of his tormenter and without a single cent spent. He could barely hide his excitement, but still something didn't seem right. It was all far too easy. Even so, Poligny was no fool; he knew this chance would not come again, and if he refused, this man looked like the type who would force his way into what he wanted. This man desperately wanted his ghost. Poligny sighed and tapped the table nervously, coming to his decision. Surprisingly, the words slipped easier out of his mouth than he expected, and Poligny nodded, "Very well."

The man sat back down with him then, settling back into the conversation. "Very well," The man repeated with a smile, and then turning his attention off to the distance, the man waved to his two female companions in a 'come hither' sort of fashion.

Poligny watched as the two attractive females approached. Like a gentleman, he stood when the women reached the table. He had moved to pull out their chairs, but both of the women coldly refused the gracious action with a cold shake of the head. Poligny was slightly puzzled but sat back down, settling back into his chair as the women seated themselves.

Once settled, the jade eyed man introduced his beautiful companions, gesturing to them as he stated, "Monsieur Poligny, my associates, Aideen Shaw and Brigitte Anderson."

The red head nodded her acknowledgment, but the zigzagged woman bluntly stated in what Poligny noted as an American accent, "I prefer Brig."

Poligny smiled and nodded politely at them both, "A pleasure to meet you Mademoiselle's. Aideen and Brig, unusual names. Are they your birth names?"

Aideen and Brig exchanged glances, but the red head confirmed it by sighing, "Aye."

Poligny eyed her, noting the clear Scottish accent before the jade eyed man dragged his attention again. He smiled at his two companions and then stated casually to Poligny, "Considering you'll be spending a greater deal of time with them, we decided keeping their names would lesson the chance of a mixup."

"Ah, yes," Poligny laughed pleasantly, seconds before what the man had said hit _him. What? _Poligny exchanged a confused gaze between the three strangers."Wait...," Poligny stared hard at the three of them, trying to read their facial expressions in hopes that they were joking, "Are... are these the agents you plan to send after my ghost? But, shouldn't someone more... qualified be handling this problem?"

From across the table, Brig had crossed her tan arms over her chest and scoffed rudely, "You aren't going to get much more qualified than us."

Poligny frowned at the woman, "Mademoiselle, I mean no offense, but it is just...you are such fragile creatures and our ghost is an extremely dangerous one."

Poligny saw both women visibly stiffen, both turning an evil eye upon him. Of course, the jade eyed man stepped in before any more could be said. "My ladies," He said sternly, his voice aggressively trying to make his point, "are fully capable of handling this particular situation, Monsieur. They are the best; they will be the most likely to succeed. They both have extensive experience in luring the unusual."

_But women? _"But...what of their covers?" Poligny said, trying his best to come up with a plausible but discreet excuse, "There are not many positions open in the Populaire for women without... gentler expertise."

"We've both got experience in many things," Brig stated, although her tone had a slight warning spark to it, "Building, cleaning, sowing... hurling large bolts of lightening at peoples heads."

Poligny blinked, "Pardon?"

"We're resourceful people," Aideen chimed in coolly, her grey eyes laying a hard gaze on him.

Like their master, these women held a sort of frightful air about them, the nature of people who had seen too much. They made a deathly shiver run up his spine, but Poligny was all too aware of what worse things were out there. "Well..." He finally sighed, saying slowly with uncertainty, "I suppose I could manage one of you a maids position, but as for the other... I'll have to come up with something. I hope you are as resourceful as you claim Mademoiselle's. The Opera Populaire is not a simple place to live. I expect you both to behave accordingly. Hmmm... housing might prove to be difficult."

"They'll manage with whatever you have to offer," The jade eyed man stated as a broad smile returned to his face. Poligny eyed all three, taking in the last moments before he sealed such a risky deal. He couldn't help but think of the consequences, and what would become of him and his Opera if the infamous O.G. were to discover his betrayal. Things would end badly for him if find out, and he could only imagine the repercussions if they failed. But despite all this, Poligny couldn't for the life of him see any other choice. He could no longer take the monsters torture; something had to be done, even if it meant hiring alleged ghost hunters. Finally, Poligny conceded, nodding slowly as the weight of it all settled in his stomach.

The man took that and with a smile he slipped a gloved hand into the inner folds of his coat. He withdrew from the black a rolled parchment, seemingly have the same texture of animal skin. It crinkled as he unrolled it and placed it before Poligny.

Poligny frowned at the old parchment, "What's this?"

"Our contract," The man said, spreading the parchment out flat so that Poligny could clearly see their exact agreement already sketched out in thick red text. The document was full prepared, holding every word they discussed to key. The only thing it was missing were their signatures. "Legal measures, you see," The man explained, "For securities sake. It is simply so that we have proof that you have agreed to allow my agents entrance into your Opera."

Poligny nodded. Being a man of business he could understand the need for documentation. Poligny gestured to take the parchment from the man, saying calmly, "I prefer to read this before I sign. Just to make certain I am not signing anything I wouldn't agree to."

"Go ahead," The man said, casually offering the parchment, "You will find everything in proper order."

And it was. Poligny couldn't find a single flaw. The agreement was written out in clear red letters, everything exactly as they had discussed, as if someone had been writing down their every word the whole time. It was peculiar; had the man really known every note they would discuss? It couldn't be possible. No one could predict the future. Poligny lifted his gaze to his three guests. Oddly, the two women had diverted their eyes, looking any place but the parchment, while their leader focused intently on it.

The jade eyed man got his hesitation though and quickly addressed it. "Is there a problem Monsieur?" His voice came out harsh, clearly noting the man's irritation in such sluggish finalities.

Poligny swallowed hard, becoming nervous once more under the mans terrible glare. "No...no, everything seems to be in order," He said, carefully handing the parchment back to the stranger.

"Of course it is," The man responded confidently, "All it lacks is your signature."

"Well, I have nothing to sign with now. Perhaps I can take the article with me back to my office. Sign it there and then-"

"We need no pens or ink for this parchment," The man snapped, his voice just as harsh as before. Poligny froze, giving the man the hundredth confused look of the day. The man however simply lifted an open palm to the man. "Your hand Monsieur," He said.

Poligny's face squinted, "What?"

"Give me your hand," The man responded, this time his voice practically demanding it.

Cautiously, Poligny obliged, offering his right hand out to the stranger. He expected nothing of it, perhaps only a hand shake would suffice, but before Poligny new what was happening the man had him by the wrist. He forced Poligny's hand over so that his palm faced the sky and gripped tight on his wrist, restraining him from moving. Within seconds the man had furnished one of the table knives, and before anything could be said, cut into the tender flesh of Poligny's palm.

Poligny had instantly released a blood curtailing scream. "What- what are you doing?" He shouted, struggling as he tried to pull his bleeding hand back, "Are you mad? Let go!"

The man ignored him. Instead he flipped Poligny's hand back over and forcefully pressed the bleeding wound to the crisp parchment. For a moment, there was nothing, just the heavy breathing of a terrified man, but seconds later a sound emerged. From beneath his palm there came the noise of suction and Poligny felt a pressure tugging at the cut on his hand, drinking from him. It only lasted long enough for Poligny to shout in terror before the jade eyed man released his hand.

Poligny instantly withdrew, bringing his bloody palm to him as his eyes stared wide at the parchment. Upon the paper there was the dark red stain of his fresh blood, slapped jaggedly across dried animal skin. The man reached out and began to roll up the parchment. For a second, Poligny could swear he could see the blood begin to move upon the parchment, slithering into shapes along the fabrics, but the man had pocketed the agreement before he could tell.

"Wha..." Poligny stuttered, his mind trying desperately to form words through the shock.

His guests did not wait to hear any further questions though; they had gotten what they had come for. In a moment the three had stood and gathered themselves. The women gave Poligny an empty smile before walking off without so much as a word. Their leader stayed only for a beat longer, adjusting himself casually as if nothing in the past moments had happened. "Pleasure doing business with you Monsieur Poligny," The jade eyed man said softly, tipping his hat to Poligny, "We'll be seeing you soon."

Poligny was left then with his injury and his thoughts once more, praying silently to God that he wasn't making a mistake.


End file.
